


The Dark Sun Rises

by TheFutureUnseen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Bellamy Blake & Lexa Friendship, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Drama, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts, Humor, Love Triangles, Mystery, POV Multiple, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFutureUnseen/pseuds/TheFutureUnseen
Summary: This year at Hogwarts:Bellamy and Lexa are thick as thieves and up to their usual shenanigans. Octavia is just trying to have a normal term in spite of her overbearing brother. And Raven is hoping that if she closes her eyes, the year will be over before it has even begun. However, when a mysterious girl named Clarke transfers from Durmstrang, her presence begins to permeate their lives, throwing a wrench into the best-laid plans. Soon, they realize that none of them will ever be the same... especially when the first student disappears.Life in the castle grows more sinister with every passing day. And, as the student population drops like flies, each one of them will have to decide who they can trust. In the midst of the ensuing chaos, a dark sun rises.PSA: This story will contain both clexa and bellarke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm finally posting this story! It's been in my head for over a year and now it is finally time to GET. IT. OUT. I really hope you all enjoy the wild ride of this saga!
> 
> I couldn't do it without my incredible betas: dracoterrae9099 and NutHeda. You guys rock! 
> 
> Some of the later chapters will contain dark themes, but I'll do my best to have warnings before any potentially disturbing material. 
> 
> At the beginning of each chapter, I'll post lyrics from a song that has helped me to write this story and that I think fits the overall mood of that chapter. If you feel like following along with the songs, I'm sure it would enhance the reading experience!
> 
> So...Buckle up, keep an open mind, and enjoy!
> 
> **Important Note:** This is written by someone who enjoys both Bellarke and Clexa. (Me!) If you love one of them so much that you strongly dislike the other ship, this will not be the story for you. Same goes for if you strongly dislike Lexa or Bellamy as characters. This will not be the story for you. Evaluate and decide for yourself. If you choose to read, please feel free to yell at me about what you like and dislike in the story, but I'm not interested in shipping wars. Thanks!

 

Chapter One:  
_**Begin Again**_

* * *

Shadows settle on the place that you left  
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness  
Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time  
From the perfect start to the finish line

And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones  
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs  
Setting fire to our insides for fun  
Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong  
The lovers that went wrong  
**Youth - Daughter  
**

* * *

“Bellamy!” a voice rang loud and clear above the turmoil of the surrounding station, calling him sharply back to the present. The hubbub of Platform 9 ¾ seemed to swell, pressing around him like a tight glove. Parents ushered their children towards the train, friends reunited after a summer apart, and every so often, the Hogwarts Express let out an ear-splitting whistle reminding everyone of its approaching departure. The amalgamation of noises could have rivaled a stampede of centaurs; in short, it was mayhem. The Prefects were the only adversaries to this madness as they scrambled around the station, trying to shoo loitering students or pacify concerned parents. Bellamy was supposed to be in the thick of it, among the select few trying to bring order to the chaos, but instead he was standing where Octavia had left him twenty minutes ago, waiting for someone who was late…very late.

“Bellamy!” the shout rang out again, much closer this time. His head snapped around looking for the offending voice. Where the hell was she? He turned fully in a circle, scanning the crowd for a sign. Just when he’d all but given up on spotting her amid the throng of people, his best friend barreled into view. Bellamy barely had time to recognize her honey-brown curls before his vision was completely obscured and long arms encircled him like a vice.

His deep laugh reverberated between them comfortably, “I thought public displays of affection were strictly forbidden, on principle.”

“Shut up, Blake.” Lexa pulled back and turned around to pick up her discarded belongings, purposefully elbowing him in the process.

“Oof. Easy there, tiger.” Bellamy rubbed his side, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his tan face. “I haven’t seen you for a whole week and _this_ is how you treat me?”

“Shut up,” Lexa repeated matter-of-factly. “We’re late. No time for quips.”

Bellamy picked up his trunk and followed after her, “ _You_ are late. I was here with plenty of time to check in with the beast.”

Lexa threw him a disdainful look over her shoulder, “Don’t call her that.”

“Why not? She scares the shit out of me.”

“You just can’t believe she actually picked you to be Prefect after all the crap you’ve pulled. It's been over a year! Get used to it.”

“You mean all the crap _we’ve_ pulled,” Bellamy corrected.

“Sure,” Lexa raised her eyebrows in challenge. She was always challenging him. “Indra loves me though.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Everyone loves you. We pull the same damn stunts and yet you get away with it and I get detention with fucking Pike.”

They shouldered their way into the front compartment of the train.

“I can’t help that I was born to the superior sex,” Lexa smirked devilishly.

“Something we both can agree—”

“Blake! Trikru!” Bellamy and Lexa jumped as Indra’s voice boomed behind them. The imposing professor seemed to appear out of nowhere. She had a knack for suddenly popping up when someone least needed to be caught. Indra stared at them, her dark brown eyes glinting. They were definitely in trouble.

Bellamy opened his mouth, then closed it and opened it again, looking very much like a fish out of water.

“Sorry, Professor,” Lexa said, bowing her head in shame. God, she was a good actor. “Bellamy forgot to purchase more floo powder and we had to use muggle transportation. It won’t happen again.”

Bellamy’s face flushed red and his mouth froze half-closed. Indra’s eyes scanned Bellamy like an x-ray as if to say ‘ _how typical.’_

“Very well. Put on your school uniforms quickly and take the last shift on the station. We take off in twenty.”

The pair turned and sprinted into the first empty compartment.

_“Bellamy forgot to buy floo powder,”_ he imitated, finally gaining control of his tongue. “I swear you should have been a Slytherin, Lex.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lexa quickly locked the door and pulled off her jacket, “You and the sorting hat both.”

Bellamy turned slightly and began to take off his own clothes. This wasn’t the first time they had changed in front of each other and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Bellamy knew Lexa trusted him implicitly and he, while probably the more awkward of the two, had gotten over his infatuation with his friend long ago. Besides, they shared an appreciation for the female form that went well beyond art.

“How was your week with Anya? Were her parents as terrifying as you expected?” Bellamy asked after he pulled on his black slacks. He began working on the buttons of his white oxford, turning back towards his friend. Lexa was sitting already fully dressed in her uniform, pulling on her black loafers.

She laughed, “Anya was pissed that we didn’t spend more of the summer together, but I made her forget about that _pretty_ quickly.” Lexa wiggled her eyebrows suggestively then turned her attention to fastening the red and gold tie around her neck. “Her parents were actually really amazing.” She paused mid action, her hands stilling against the colorful silk, and Bellamy recognized the old sadness in her eyes. He waited, knowing that Lexa would only share on her terms. No amount of asking could pry information from that woman; she was a steel fortress.

Lexa sighed. “It must be nice to have parents that care about you and accept you for who you are… no questions.”

“Yeah, yeah it must…” An old, familiar ache took hold of Bellamy and a long forgotten face swam before his eyes - the face of a mother he’d barely known. He shook his head, clearing the image. “Here, do mine and I’ll do yours.”

Bellamy held his tie out to her and ducked as she stood and swung it over his head. He tightened and straightened the accessory around her neck as she did the same to him. Silently, he pulled her in for another hug. They had known each other for over ten years, since she was five and he was six. She was his family; he would protect Lexa and her heart with his life.

“I’m glad you’re back. It was weird without you,” Bellamy said, pulling away and reaching for his school robe.

Lexa nodded, needing no words to communicate, and straightened her uniform. “Let’s go reign terror on the first years, Blake.”

“Absolutely.”

The brunette paused, “How the hell did we get chosen to be Prefects?”

“Dumb luck?”

“Good enough for me!”

In lighter spirits, they made their way back out to the platform, relieving a pair of Hufflepuff Prefects who were assuredly _not_ annoyed by the delay.

Lexa smiled, approaching a family who was having a hard time convincing their son to get on board. She managed to cajole the boy onto the train after a few minutes of careful persuasion, while Bellamy answered the questions of a muggle couple who had already said goodbye to their offspring.

“By the way, where is Octavia?” Lexa asked quickly in between ushering a group of absent-minded fourth years and reminding a second year that the train would leave with or without her.

“Probably off flirting with Atom or Murphy or her latest conquest and giving me an ulcer at the same time,” Bellamy muttered caustically.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Bell, give her a break. She’s just realized that she can have any heterosexual male in the school that she wants and now she is trying to rationalize not having them all at once.”

Bellamy’s face went white and then red, causing Lexa to chuckle.

“Joking!” She raised her hands in defense, “Really Bellamy, you are going to have to let her explore her sexuality sometime. She is only a year younger than us and having you constantly sheltering her is not winning her any brownie points.”

“I don’t _want_ her winning any brownie points,” Bellamy whined, his face simultaneously petulant and disgusted. “She’s my baby sister.”

“Well she’s not a baby anymore and you have to accept that.”

“Who's not a baby?” Octavia’s raspy voice cut through their conversation, accusingly.

“Your brother, obviously,” Lexa replied easily. She grunted and made fists, beating them against her chest. “He has finally become a man and shed his virgin coil by lying with a large breasted woman.”

Bellamy laughed and shoved Lexa away, giving his best glower.

“Gross,” Octavia said without humor. “Like I don’t know you lost your virginity to Caroline White when you were thirteen.”

“You know about that?!” Bellamy choked, appalled.

“Oh please, the entire school talked about it for a month after Indra caught you. I was young, not stupid.” Octavia turned to Lexa, “Also if you’re going to talk about me, come up with a better lie next time. You two are pathetic.”

Lexa smiled sweetly and bowed her head, making a formal curtsy. “Yes, your highness.”

Octavia rolled her eyes in the Blake fashion. “Whatever,” she huffed. She turned back to her brother, “Look Bell, if you have a problem with the guy I’m seeing then come talk to me about it… or better yet mind your own damn business!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bellamy pantomimed, “I would, but it’s hard to keep track of your ever growing roster.”

“ _Bellamy_ ,” Lexa hissed.

“Butt out, Lexa,” Octavia snapped, angrily.

“Fine.” Lexa grimaced, knowing a full scale Blake war was about to commence. “Find me later, Bell.”

Octavia watched Lexa head towards the nearest carriage door; her triumph was soured by regret, so she pushed both down. The younger Blake turned her attention back to her brother, who seemed distracted by the departure of his best friend as well. Lexa had that effect on everyone.

“Look. I’m tired of guys running for the hills after you’ve ‘talked’ to them. I don’t know what you said to Atom, but he won’t even look at me anymore. This has to stop, Bell.”

Octavia watched as something similar to shame swept across Bellamy’s face, “I know. I’m sorry.” He seemed to struggle for the right words. “I just…want to keep you safe.”

“And I love you for that, big brother,” Octavia said slowly, trying not to bristle at his wording. “But one of these days you’re going to have to let me live my life. So, no more scaring the guys I like. Okay?”

“Loud and clear, Chief.” Bellamy saluted her, then at her somber expression he said seriously, “I hear you, O.”

The train’s whistle screamed shrilly across 9 ¾, bringing all those left on the platform to attention. Octavia gave her brother a small shrug before turning back towards the compartments where her friends were waiting.

How many times was she going to have to tell Bellamy to lay off? Octavia hoped that this would be the last, but history proved otherwise. It didn’t take any imagination to understand why Bell felt so protective of her. They had grown up in less than ideal circumstances, but that all changed six years ago. Hogwarts saved both of them, but somewhere, deep inside of Bellamy, he hadn’t accepted that yet. He was still living in fear, but Octavia couldn’t tell him that. Her brother was great at taking care of everyone except himself.  

“Jesus, Blake, watch where you’re going!”

Octavia looked up in time to halt in her tracks before running head first into John Murphy, notorious Slytherin asshole.

“My bad,” Octavia quipped. “You’re skin is so pale, I thought I could just pass right through you.”

Murphy sneered, resting his arms on either side of the hall walls to thoroughly block her path, “Please, be my guest.”

Octavia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, “Could you want me any more? Really, Murphy, it’s pathetic.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m spoken for, Blake.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Octavia said, nodding and stepping forward, “the Hand sisters.”

“What?” Confused, Murphy lowered his arms.

“It must be so hard to choose between your right and left hand.” Octavia side-stepped Murphy, raising jazz hands in the air and laughing as she made her way down the corridor. His response was incoherent.

As it let out one last plaintiff whistle, the train lurched forward assisting Octavia down the hallway. She threw open the compartment door, still on a high from her showdown with Murphy.

“I’m back bitches,” Octavia yelled, throwing herself down between Monty and Jasper and partially sitting on both of them… not that they minded. Though Harper did not look altogether pleased.

“How’d the talk with Bellamy go?” Jasper asked, trying to sound disinterested and failing.

“About the same as the last five have gone. I say he’s an idiot and ask him to stop, then he says he wants to protect me. Then I _tell_ him to stop and he agrees, but usually does the opposite! Be glad you don’t have siblings, children.”

Monty tried to interject, “You know the definition of insanity is repeating--”

“How many times have you told me the definition of insanity, Monty?”

“A lot.”

Octavia stared at him, “Enough said.”

Jasper laughed, grinning at Octavia; Monty sat back and raised his eyebrows at the pair.

Octavia looked around and, not seeing her best friend, asked, “Where’s Raven?”

“Huh?” “Dunno,” the boys parroted each other, looking around as well.

“She left a while ago. Said something about the bathroom,” Harper replied without looking up from her book.

Octavia made a move to stand up, but Jasper pulled her attention back to the room and away from her missing friend.

“Sooooo, are you going to talk to Atom? You know, straighten things out?” Jasper prompted without looking at her, becoming very interested in unwrapping a chocolate frog.

“Ha!” Octavia scoffed, “He couldn’t even look at me after Bellamy talked to him. What a pussy.”

“Hey!” Monty said, defending all mankind. “Your brother is very intimidating.”

Octavia scoffed again, but less convincingly, “Nevertheless, I am going to go find Raven.”

“You’ve found me.”

All eyes turned towards the compartment door. Raven Reyes, sunshine goddess and all around Mother Teresa of Hogwarts, looked terrible. Her eyes were suspiciously red and her husky voice lacked its usual spark. Octavia knew better than to ask Raven directly about what was going on; the girl was too selfless to intentionally burden anyone else with her own problems. Octavia had learned quickly that Raven had to be pushed gently and skillfully into asking for help or she would willingly suffer in silence.

“Hey,” Octavia moved over to sit across from Raven, mentally strategizing her plan of attack. “Atom stopped talking to me.” _Good,_ Octavia thought, _talk about yourself and then get Raven vulnerable and unsuspecting._

Raven looked up, momentarily emerging from her fog, “God, Octavia, I’m sorry. That sucks. I know you really liked him. So… what happened?”

“Bellamy.”

Raven flushed slightly, almost imperceptibly, and hoped Octavia didn’t notice. She did not want to think about the older Blake at the moment. There was more pressing shit in her corner.

“He can be such a…”

“Asshat?”

“Pretty much.” Raven nodded.

“Anyways… how was _your_ summer? We didn’t get to talk much.” Octavia prodded hesitantly. Raven almost laughed, but she didn’t. She knew exactly what Octavia was doing. The girl was a lot of things, but subtle was not one of them. She should probably just tell Octavia and save them both the trouble.

“It was… eventful.” Raven started out, her throat suddenly feeling dry and scratchy and so very devoid of words.

“How so?”

“You know that Finn and I were having some trou-”

The compartment door slid open, quieting the room for a second before a burst of greeting rang out to the two boys who had entered: Wells and Finn.

Raven stiffened visibly as the room filled. She turned her body more towards the window as if she could physically block out the jovial energy. The seat cushion shifted and her back tensed with painful awareness as a body sat down next to her.

“Raven,” Finn’s hushed voice reached her ears. “Can we talk, please?”

“No,” she bit out, not looking at him.

“ _Please!_ ” His voice and presence was grating on her nerves.

“I said _no_ , Finn,” Raven hissed. She stood up quickly and left the compartment, hoping to escape the feeling of being trapped, but it followed her. Fortunately, Finn did not. She probably had Octavia to thank for that.

Raven walked purposefully to the girls’ restroom, breathing evenly and keeping her face neutral. Her composure didn’t break for a second until she was safely locked in her own stall. Raven sat down and buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she tried to fight the tears pulling at her eyes. This wasn’t her… this weak, sad person who felt so broken. This wasn’t the person she was meant to be. Then again, the person Raven was meant to be never thought she would ever feel this betrayed. The one person in the world who was supposed to love her and respect her and guard her heart had instead smashed her to pieces with one ‘mistake.’ In her book, that was one mistake too many.

The worst part was not that Finn, her boyfriend of three years had cheated on her. No, the worst part was that Finn, the only person she called family, had spit on her trust. _‘I’m sorry,’_ he had said. _‘Forgive me,’_ he had begged, but she couldn’t. He wasn’t the same person anymore. She wasn’t the same person. Anger rippled through her. Raven wasn’t weak, Finn was. _Weak, cheating bastard,_ her mind agreed with her. Her eyes narrowed and she kicked the stall door in frustration.

Raven was angry, angrier than she thought humanly possible. It had been three weeks since she found out and the ache she felt hadn’t dulled at all. The emotions came in waves and when anger was at its peak, Raven did things she regretted. _Well, not entirely,_ the little voice in Raven’s head corrected her. Sleeping with Bellamy Blake had its perks. For one, he was definitely something to look at. _More than something…_ He also happened to be the one person Finn hated most at school. _Check and check._ Honestly, she couldn’t have picked a better person to have revenge sex with. _Except that he’s your best friend’s brother…_ That last part was unfortunate.

Raven decided to worry about Octavia later. Right now, she had a very strong urge to find that girl’s annoyingly attractive older brother. _You’re resilient. You’re a fighter,_ Raven told herself. She took broken pieces and made them into something beautiful all the time. This time, she just had to do that with herself. _Pick yourself up, Reyes._ Breathing deeply, Raven wiped her damp eyes and got up. She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She laughed; her eyes were red as hell. Who was she kidding? Bellamy wouldn’t care. He’d screw anything.

Raven left the bathroom and headed further up the carriage towards the prefect compartments, where she was supposed to be sitting anyways. She spotted a head of honey brown hair disappearing around the corner.

“Hey, wait!”

Lexa came back into view, “What’s up, Reyes? I’m busy.”

Raven brushed off her chilly demeanor; this wouldn’t take long, “Wondering where Bellamy is... Have you seen him?”

“Last I saw, he was in our compartment - 603. He was about to take a nap when I left.”

“Great, thanks.”

Lexa just raised her eyebrows and turned back the way she came. 

_603_. Raven retraced her steps back towards the beginning of the prefect carriage. She halted outside the door. The blinds had already been drawn. Perfect.

Knocking softly, Raven let herself in, ready to forget the boy who had hurt her and the faceless girl with whom he had replaced her, even momentarily. _Clarke_. Like unwanted articles of clothing, she removed Finn and that girl and this pain from her mind. She only kept her anger, which made her warm inside and pushed her to forget everything in the arms of a stranger.

Across the carriage in a compartment all alone, sat a girl with silvery-blonde hair. She didn’t mind her isolation; she preferred it that way, really. The trunk, which had been shoved above her seat, was weathered and faded as if it had belonged to many others before her. The entire piece looked old save for the silver tag on the handle, which shined brightly. The tag held nothing but a name engraved upon it: Clarke Griffin.

The girl - Clarke - stared out of her window and watched the landscape morph into shadows in the fading light. The train raced steadily down its well-worn tracks, taking her towards the last place on earth she wanted to be. With one hand resting familiarly on the necklace between her breasts and her gaze fixed on the horizon, she sketched a charcoal likeness of the sky. It was the perfect rendering save one detail… a dark sun was rising.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! I've decided to give you chapter two slightly early because I'm traveling tomorrow. Before you read, just a few notes... 
> 
> I had some questions posed about endgame last time. I am considering tagging endgame; however, for now I am not ready to do that. I _will_ say that this story features straight, bisexual, and lesbian main POV characters and their sexualities will be at the forefront regardless of who they are with. Also, if you're into the fic for one ship - and there is nothing wrong with that - you just might not be satisfied as this is a story that involves many! With that said, I really hope those of you who continue to read enjoy this next chapter  <3
> 
> I don't own any rights to The 100 or Harry Potter. This is pure fanfiction!

Chapter Two:  
**_Abyssum Abyssus Invocat_**

* * *

You're catching everybody's eyes  
But you're a walking bunch of lies  
I can see behind your smile  
Hello devil in disguise  
**First Impression - Amanda Tenfjord**

* * *

His lips tasted of coffee and something sweet…like brown sugar, so different from the bitter tobacco flavor that Finn had acquired since he started smoking a year ago. Raven closed her eyes unnecessarily against the pitch black of the compartment. Pressing her lips harder against Bellamy’s, she tried to get lost in the feeling and expel any thoughts of her cheating ex-boyfriend.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Raven muttered when they bumped foreheads while rearranging their positions. He simply grunted in response and pulled her in for another kiss. She sighed, a little annoyed. She didn’t _really_ mind, but they had been kissing for what felt like an eternity now. Foreplay was great and all, but when were they going to get to the good part? Last time, she and Bellamy had kissed for all of five seconds before ripping off each other’s clothes. This time Raven seemed to be doing all the work. For the love of magic, she had even taken off her own shirt and bra.

Raven shifted on his lap, trying to take some of the pressure off of her knees where they straddled him. _Focus,_ she told herself; they couldn’t have that much of the train ride left. If they were going to do this, it needed to be now. She reached down between them, searching in the darkness for his zipper. She grinned triumphantly as she found it, but his hand stilled her wrist, halting her. _What the fuck?_

She was about to repeat her query out loud, when his lips found hers again. This was weird. Something was off. Raven became increasingly aware of how rough Bellamy’s chin was, but that didn’t make sense… Bellamy was always clean shaven.

Suddenly light flared into the compartment. Raven blinked and her hands went instinctively to cover her naked chest.

“Well this is… unexpected,” an all too familiar, cocky voice said from the doorway.

And there Bellamy stood, totally clothed, his stupid face caught between surprise and mild amusement. Raven’s head snapped back painfully towards the person with whom she had just been swapping spit. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Looking back at her was none other than Roan, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, grinning maddeningly.

“What the fuck?!” She shoved his chest away as she scrambled off his lap. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” Raven cursed again, her stomach rolling. She picked up her discarded shirt off the floor and threw it on quickly, not bothering with her bra.

“I take it I’m not the only one surprised by this then.” Bellamy hadn’t moved, mercifully blocking any vantage point into the compartment. He wasn’t exactly jumping to her defense either. _What a dick._ Raven threw a dirty look at him and Roan; her face felt like it was a million degrees.

“I’ve never been woken up quite in that manner, but, I have to say, I could get used to it.” Roan said, standing and pulling on his own shirt.

Bellamy stared at him, “Seriously, dude?”

“What?” Roan shrugged at him. He might as well have said, ‘ _fuck off._ ’

“Shut. Up,” Raven snarled angrily.

“I haven’t done anything. Literally!” Bellamy defended himself.

Angry tears sprang to her eyes, but Raven just glared at the two, finally fully clothed. “Rot in hell, assholes,” She spat before shoving her way past Bellamy and into the corridor, her knuckles white, still clenched around her bra.   

“Raven!” one of the boys called after her, but she kept walking. _Fuck Bellamy. Fuck Roan._ God, she was so humiliated. It was like she was walking around with a target on her back. She couldn’t seem to catch a break.

The loudspeaker crackled, coming to life. “Attention students: We will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes. Please make sure you are dressed in your school uniform and ready to disembark immediately upon arrival. First Years, leave your belongings on board. Your things will be brought to your new dorms for you.”

Raven picked up her pace; she was barely going to have enough time to get back to her trunk and change before the train pulled into Hogwarts’ station. _Raven Reyes: 0, The Universe: 1,000,000._

“Hey!”

Raven looked up just in time to see a head of blonde hair before she ran smack into the person accompanying it. The girl let out a sharp yelp as Raven rebounded off her, dropping her bra at the same time.

“Ugh, sorry!” Raven gasped, bending down to pick up her troublesome article of clothing.

“No, it’s fine, really,” she responded, shrugging off the accident. The blonde was giving her a strange look, but Raven had never seen this girl before in her life.

“Thanks,” Raven said. “Well, gotta change!” She waved her bra in the air and then let her arm fall limp by her side, realizing what she had just done. She sidestepped the strange girl and continued down the corridor.

Clarke watched the brunette hurry away, oblivious. Her own heart was beating a mile a minute; she had recognized Raven immediately. She could not have forgotten that face if she wanted to, not after finding it stuck in her boyfriend's wallet. Nope, not her boyfriend. Finn had been Raven’s boyfriend and Clarke had been his side piece. That had become abundantly clear when the dark-haired girl in the photograph had pulled a black-and-white Finn in front of the lens to plant a large kiss on his lips. Her stomach clenched at the memory of the smile the couple had flashed at the camera after locking lips. She was disgusted with herself, but even more appalled at Finn. She had totally misread him.

Halfway through the summer she had met a great guy, someone who made her feel special and cared for. It had been exactly what she needed after losing the one person who truly cared about her only a few months earlier.

When her father had died during a raid last spring, Clarke had been blindsided. She hadn’t even known that he was an Auror. To her, Jake had just been a teacher, a mentor, a father. Until the ministry had sent someone to break the cold, hard truth to her. Had she even known him at all? Her head pounded painfully every time she tried to think about it. Honestly, the shock still hadn’t passed. On top of that, her estranged mother, whom Clarke hadn’t seen in years, had forced her to transfer to Hogwarts where she taught as a professor. Clarke had lost her father, her friends, and any form of stability she had known in a matter of days. And it didn’t seem to bother Abby at all.

They hadn’t even talked after Jake died.  Clarke had simply received a letter telling her ‘ _how things were going to be now._ ’  The woman had never asked what Clarke wanted; she just did as _she_ thought appropriate.  Clarke didn’t _want_ to go to a new school.  She didn’t _want_ a mother who only bothered to give a shit after her dad died.  But Clarke had wanted Finn.  And how wrong she had been to want him.

A month ago when Clarke had found the picture of Raven in Finn’s wallet, the girl’s face had been seared into her brain. Seeing her in person was like a knife in Clarke’s gut, like hot pain and searing guilt made manifest.

Clarke pushed her way to the nearest restroom and hurled the contents of her breakfast into the toilet bowl. Once. Twice. Three times. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, breathing heavily. She knew this was a reality she would face when she boarded the train. Abby hadn’t listened to Clarke’s pleas to let her return to Durmstrang, so here she was attending school with a lying sack of shit and his poor girlfriend. Still, despite how much she hated the situation, it distracted her from the deeper pain that she tried to bury. Any time her mind turned to thoughts of her father, Clarke would simply bring up Finn’s face and think about all the ways she would make him suffer this year at school.

She used her foot to flush the toilet and left the stall. The water in the tap tasted metallic, but she gulped it down anyway, rinsing her mouth out more times than she cared to count. The train lurched and began to slow down. _We must be nearing the station_. The thought settled like lead in her stomach. Clarke looked at herself in the mirror and breathed deeply, setting her face into a neutral expression of mild indifference.

Students had filled the corridor by the time she left the bathroom. A muffled whistle sounded from outside the carriage as the train rolled to a stop. She pushed her way into line and shuffled along with the rest of them towards the exit. As soon as she emerged onto the platform, Clarke halted, unsure of what to do or where to go. The train station appeared warm and cheery, illuminated by the yellow glow of many lamp posts; older students were heading towards a line of carriages while the younger ones were congregating off to one side.

“Clarke?”

She tensed. It might have been ten years since she last heard it, but Clarke would never forget the lilt of that voice.  Even as she turned towards the speaker, Clarke contemplated all possible escape options. _None_. She was stuck. A woman in her late thirties with light brown hair walked swiftly towards Clarke; she was stunning in vibrant purple robes, her sleek hair clipped away from her attractive face. Clarke hated it. Her hands trembled slightly at the sight of her mother, so she fisted them by her side.

“Abby,” Clarke responded, her voice as cold as she felt. She barely gave the woman a second glance, her eyes scanning the station, the students, anything else.

“I told you to call me mom, Clarke.” The exasperation in Abby’s voice was evident.

“Hi, Professor Griffin!” A group of young girls waved as they passed. Abby smiled, nodding in their direction. Clarke glared at them.

“I think I’ll stick with Abby,” Clarke said with forced lightness, as if she was talking about weather patterns.  

“Fine,” Abby sighed, “I’m here to take you up to the castle. You’re going to have to be sorted into a house with the First Years, but I won’t make you row up to the castle with them.”

“Gee, thanks.” Clarke muttered, but Abby had already taken off down the lamplit path. _I’d rather be with the First Years right now._ To avoid making a scene, she followed Abby as the woman headed in the same direction as the older students. Clarke’s skin crawled as she noticed all the curious stares being thrown in her direction. She heard all too clearly the muttered questions and comments about the special treatment. The less everyone knew the better, so Clarke kept her distance from Abby and tried to look like just another student. She felt a little more relaxed when she escaped the prying eyes into the horseless carriage that whisked Abby and her up towards the castle.

Despite the quick pace, the ride was excruciatingly long. Clarke looked everywhere except at her mother. When they finally arrived, Abby ordered her to wait in the Entrance Hall for the First Years, before disappearing into the throng of students. _Great._

After what felt like an eternity, the younger students filtered into the hall led by a man dressed in dusky yellow robes. The man reached her first and extended a hand, smiling winsomely, “Clarke? I’m Professor Kane. Glad to have you with us. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother.”

Clarke shook his hand, her eyebrows rising at his comment, but said nothing.

If he was phased by her attitude, he didn’t show it. “Now, in case your mother didn’t explain how this is going to work, you’ll walk in with us, but be sorted first. Then you can relax with your new house while the First Years are sorted. It does take quite a while.” He smiled good-naturedly, making his handsome face even more attractive.

Clarke nodded again, “Great.”

Professor Kane turned to address the whole group, “Shall we?” If possible, his smile widened even more. _Ugh._

Professor Kane threw open the doors to the Great Hall, not waiting for a response. Clarke followed reluctantly, feeling like a sore thumb walking at the front by herself, a whole head taller than any of the other students. She raised her chin defiantly, keeping her eyes trained on the back of Professor Kane’s awful yellow robes. She hated yellow.

The group came to a stop at the front of the large room and Clarke looked around for the first time. The Great Hall was simply…beautiful. The floating candles lit the room with a soft, warm glow that did not obscure the brilliance of the star strewn ceiling above. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes suddenly felt moist. Her father would have loved this. Had he ever seen it?

Clarke blinked, her heart tightening. She turned her attention back to the front of the room and refused to look anywhere else. A stool had been placed at the foot of the teacher’s table in front of everyone. An old, worn hat sat on the varnished stool, looking pathetic next to the gleaming, golden wood.

The entire room hushed as if waiting for something. Then a seam in the hat opened and beautiful tenor voice sang out from its depths:

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find  
_ _A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
_ _And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
_So try me on and I will tell you  
_ _Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
_ _Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
_ _And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_if you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,  
_ _Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
_Those cunning folks use any means  
_ _To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
_ _For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

Clarke bit her lip to keep from laughing. What the hell was that? _Hogwarts is fucking weird,_ she thought and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She missed the ever present rationality and logic of Durmstrang. There were no houses or singing hats at Durmstrang, just smart, serious students who wanted to learn magic. _This has to be a joke._

“Griffin, Clarke.” Professor Kane’s voice echoed loudly throughout the hall.

Clarke tried to keep her face neutral as she stepped forward. The loud murmur of hall was immediately drowned out as the hat was placed upon her head. A soft buzzing filled her ears.

_So…_ A voice hissed in her ear, making Clarke jump. It felt like the voice was coming from inside her own head. _You didn’t like my song. How disappointing. I’ve been working on that one all year._

_Umm, Sorry?_ Clarke thought, unsure whether the hat would be able to hear her.

_Of course I can hear you,_ the hat laughed at her. _Such a foolish girl. Definitely not a Ravenclaw, then._

Clarke gritted her teeth. She definitely didn’t like this hat.

_Oooo, not a Hufflepuff either, too short tempered…So that leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin._

_Just pick one,_ Clarke snapped.

_No, no, no, dear, that’s not how this works. You have to make the choice._

_What?_

_Let’s see…Oh, I know…How about we play a little game? Here goes…Everyone in this room will die,_ **_but_ ** _you can save them, only if you give up the person you love most in this world._

_He’s already dead,_ Clarke thought bitterly. She didn’t want to play this game.

_Oh come now, where is your imagination?_ _If he was alive…would you choose to save him or everyone in this room? One life or many-_

Clarke responded without a second thought, _I would save him._

_Hmmm, then you would do well in…_ “SLYTHERIN!” The sorting hat bellowed into the Great Hall. There was silence, then a smattering of applause from one side of the room.

Professor Kane removed the hat from Clarke’s head and directed her to the last table where the lackluster applause had come from. Clarke glanced back towards the teacher’s table, catching a glimpse of her mother’s stunned face. She felt slightly better after seeing that. Spying an open seat, Clarke plopped herself down.

“I’m Emori,” a pretty girl across the table said, distracting Clarke from the sorting of a First Year named ‘Davis, Kenney.’

“This is Murphy,” Emori continued, “and that’s Anya. Welcome to Slytherin, the best house at Hogwarts.”

Clarke gauged the group. “I’m Clarke.”

“We know,” Emori responded, gesturing back towards the sorting hat.

“Right,” Clarke nodded.

“Sooo,” the guy name Murphy started, “Griffin? Like Professor Griffin?” She stared at him. He was attractive, in a strange, unconventional way, she supposed.

“Yeah,” Clarke sighed. “Some would call her my mother.”

“What would you call her?” Anya asked, her angular face peaked with curiosity.

Clarke thought for a moment, “Absent bitch?”  

The group laughed, obviously sharing her dark humor.

“You’ll fit in just fine here,” Murphy said with a crooked smile. “Besides being the best, Slytherin house is also known for its dysfunctional families and fucked up kids.”

Emori nodded, “I refer to my mother fondly as ‘the dragon.’”

Anya shrugged, “Speak for yourself. My parents are great.”

“Say that with a straight face.” Murphy retorted.

The group laughed again, except Anya who just looked at the rest with a haughty expression. _This is okay,_ Clarke thought, _I can do this._

They talked through pretty much the entire sorting ceremony, clapping belatedly every time ‘Slytherin’ was called out. Thankfully no one asked any personal questions; they seemed to want to avoid them as much as she did. Clarke barely listened to what Headmaster Jaha said. Something about the Forbidden Forest being off limits, etc, etc, etc. The food finally arrived, putting an end to the talking for the most part. She was starting to relax and looked around the Hall, taking it all in once more. That was a mistake.

Across the hall she found a pair of soft brown eyes staring at her. The boy who owned them had a strong tan face and a head of brown curls which were slightly too long. He seemed to register that she had caught him staring after a few seconds. Instead of looking away, his face split into a wide, goofy grin. Clarke frowned at him and returned her attention back to the table. She jerked her head in the boy’s direction. “Who the hell is that?”

Emori and the rest of the group looked around. Yep, he was still staring. He raised his eyebrows at them, seeming to enjoy the attention. “ _That_ is Bellamy Blake,” Emori said, turning back around.

Murphy looked like he had swallowed a sour grape. “They don’t come more annoying or self-righteous than the Blakes.”

Anya laughed, “You just don’t like them because Bellamy beats you in Dark Arts every time there is a duel AND everyone knows Octavia turned you down last year.”

It was Emori’s turn to grimace, not happy to be reminded of her boyfriend’s previous infatuation. Murphy just scoffed and turned his sour expression on Anya.

“You can’t talk,” Murphy shot back. “You’re sleeping with the enemy… _traitor_.”   

Anya rolled her eyes, “I’m not sleeping with the enemy, Murphy. Lexa has been my girlfriend for almost a year.”

“Lexa?” Clarke asked, curiously.

“She’s Bellamy’s best friend. Also a Gryffindor,” Emori supplied.

Clarke glanced back towards the Gryffindor table, her gaze catching once more on the brown-haired boy, distracted by the fact that Bellamy was still looking in her direction. Beyond him, a beautiful girl with honey-brown hair and tan skin was snapping her fingers in Bellamy’s face, obviously trying to get his attention.

Bellamy was in some sort of parallel universe where selective sensory-deprivation was a way of life. Bellamy didn’t hear Lexa’s fingers snapping and he hadn’t touched his plate of food despite the fact that he was ravenous. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the blonde girl across the hall. _Clarke Griffin_ . She was beyond intriguing. She was beautiful to be sure, her pale skin and blonde hair lighting up the room like a beacon; however, that wasn’t what intrigued him. He kept staring, waiting to see her face change expressions; however, it stayed neutral, disinterested apart from the small frown she had given him a few minutes ago. She was like a wall of ice, totally unreadable. Bellamy was fascinated. _Ice Princess,_ his mind nicknamed her almost instinctively.

“Drool much?” Octavia’s words dripped with disdain, pulling Bellamy from his reverie.

“What?” Bellamy’s hand shot immediately to his mouth, wiping away drool that wasn’t there.

Octavia laughed, shaking her head. Lexa growled in frustration, “Finally! You’ve been in a freaking trance for like thirty minutes. I’ve been talking to a brick wall.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy muttered, his face flushing slightly. Lexa frowned at him, then looked at the girl across the room. Bellamy’s gaze followed hers and once again he felt ensnared.

“Seriously, Bellamy? She’s attractive, I’ll give you that.” Lexa shrugged, her attention returning to the table as she served herself another slice of shepherd's pie. “Personally, I prefer brunettes.”

“ _Attractive?_ ” Bellamy spluttered, he stared at his best friend like she was crazy, “Just _attractive_? Are we looking at the same person?”

“Brunettes are better,” Lexa said simply, shrugging again and taking a bite of her pie.

“Here, here,” Octavia said, raising a hand and high fiving Lexa in front of Bellamy.

“You do realize you’re half blonde, right?” He said, using his fork to take a bite out of Lexa’s pie, despite the fact that he had a full plate before him. Lexa reacted with cat-like reflexes, pinning his full fork to her plate with her own utensil.

“No fucking way, Blake. Eat your own damn food.”

Bellamy raised his hands in defeat, abandoning his fork on Lexa’s plate and picking up a new one.

“Ahh, it’s like the good old days in the orphanage: fighting for food, never having enough to eat,” Octavia said in falsely cheery voice.

Bellamy and Lexa stared at her in equal parts horror and disbelief. The orphanage was an unspoken taboo amongst the three.

“What?” Octavia said defensively, “I was joking, obviously. You could each have your own pie if you wanted to! No need to fight over it.”

Bellamy and Lexa just shook their heads and continued to eat. “Your hair is kind of blonde in the sun though,” Bellamy said, his mouth half-full of food.

“Best of both worlds then,” Lexa retorted.

Bellamy gave her a look, “You’re so annoying.”

“No,” Lexa responded, “Raven Reyes is annoying. She’s _so_ self-righteous. All that beauty… wasted.”

Octavia snorted from the other side of Bellamy and muttered, “You’re one to talk.”

“By the way, she was looking for you earlier,” Lexa added, ignoring the younger Blake.

Bellamy choked on his food, his face coloring slightly. He coughed and responded, “Well, she found me, but not exactly how she wanted to…”

Grinning, Lexa leaned forward and lowered her voice so only Bellamy could hear. “So are you two friends with benefits now? I still can’t believe you slept with her. Was she any good? Did she boss you around?”

“It only happened that one time and she cried afterwards… It was fucking awkward.”

“You’re that bad?”

Bellamy tried to shove her, but ended up flinging a forkful of shepherd’s pie at a seventh year down the table. He ducked his head and whispered, “You wish! It was something about her boyfriend, Collins.”  

“I’d do her, but she is honestly just too annoying,” Lexa turned back to her food.  

“You just don’t like her because she’s into boys,” Bellamy laughed at Lexa’s affronted expression.

“Are you guys still talking about Raven? Lay off,” Octavia insisted.

“I don’t have a problem with hetero girls!” Lexa protested. “I mean, I can’t say I understand their perspective, but I don’t dislike them…I like Octavia.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Octavia muttered, stiffening at her name.

“You have to like O; she’s like a sister,” Bellamy replied.

“ _No_. I’m not,” Octavia snapped back.

“Well, I didn’t mean literal--”

“I know,” Octavia cut him off.

“Why are you being so snappy today?” Bellamy look at his sister strangely. She seemed to have it out for Lexa recently.

“I said, ‘don’t bring me into this’ and then you continued to talk about me. Leave. Me. Out. You two should be used to that by now.”  

Lexa rolled her eyes, “It’s fine Bell. She’s just finally hit puberty and all her little teen hormones are raging.”

“Oh, no,” Octavia pretended to cry, “I’m _so_ wounded.”

“Seriously, what is with you two?” Bellamy leaned forward to create a barrier between them. “You’ve been at each other’s throats all summer.”

Neither girl responded so Bellamy just let it drop, not eager to stir up any more drama.

Lexa pushed her plate away with a contented sigh. She was never going to get used to being able to have as much food as she wanted. It was pure bliss. She glanced over at the Slytherin table and caught Anya trying to signal her. The girl grinned wickedly once she realized she’d gotten Lexa’s attention and bobbed her head towards the door. Lexa returned the smile and nodded.

“I’m out of here. Cover for me with Indra,” Lexa whispered to Bellamy.

“What?!” He hissed back, panic in his voice.

“You’ll be fine!” Lexa chuckled and got up before he could form a response. She made her way out of the Great Hall. The room buzzed with noise and movement. It was perfect for a stealthy escape.

“Hey,” she greeted Anya with a half-smile when the Slytherin escaped out of the hall a few minutes later.

“Hey,” Anya kissed her quickly and then laced her fingers with Lexa’s. “Come on.”

Lexa let Anya pull her up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, but stopped her short after they had climbed a few levels. “Everyone will be done soon and heading back to the dorms. Let’s just find a quiet spot,” she suggested as she pulled Anya into the dead-end of a corridor that was hardly used.

Lexa pressed Anya against a locked door, her body tingling where their limbs touched. She grinned at the older girl and murmured again, “Hi.”

Anya shook her head, laughing, and took Lexa’s face in her hands, kissing her with gentle thoroughness. She bit Lexa’s lip softly and pulled at it. “Hi,” she smiled at her girlfriend’s pleased face.

“I missed you,” Anya whispered as she kissed Lexa’s ear.

Lexa scoffed, “We had sex this morning!”

“I’m not talking about sex, Lex,” Anya shook her head before running her hands down Lexa’s back, “although I’m not complaining.”

Lexa nodded, “I missed you too, of course.” She leaned in to kissed Anya’s mouth, her hands coming to rest on her girlfriend’s hips.

“Hey, Trikru! Oh, _shit_.”

Lexa stiffened and pulled back from Anya. _Raven fucking Reyes._ Anya put a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, but it was no use, Lexa was already pissed.

“What the fuck do you want, Reyes?” Lexa bit out, trying to keep her voice even.

“Uh…” Raven had the decency to look embarrassed for interrupting, but any sympathy Lexa felt went out the window with the girl’s next words. “Are you kidding me? What you did earlier was pretty low, even for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Lexa snapped back.

“You set me up. You lied; you knew Bellamy wasn’t in that compartment.” Raven pointed her finger accusingly, but lowered her voice as the noise of students rushing to their dorms filtered down the hallway.

“I didn’t lie, Reyes. Despite what you may think, I’m not Bellamy’s keeper. I told you what I knew. It’s not my fault you’re too horny to check whose dick you were sitting on.” This was ridiculous. Had Raven really followed her up here to yell about earlier? The girl was fucking unbelievable.

“You’re such an asshole, Trikru,” Raven glared daggers.

“You’re such a bitch, Reyes,” Lexa snarled back.

Anya pulled her back. “Hey, just leave it. OK?”

“It’s fine, I’m leaving,” Raven spat out and left the pair in the corridor. She shook her head angrily. Trikru was the freaking plague; the girl didn’t care about anyone but herself. Raven felt sorry for Bellamy and Anya.

In the time it took to reach Ravenclaw tower, Raven had calmed down a little. She was an eight rather than a ten on the Raven-is-going-to-blow-her-top scale. Not much of an improvement, though.   _Hey,_ Raven thought to herself, _it’s better than nothing._ The small amount of calm she acquired on her walk back dissipated when she saw who was standing beside the bronze, eagle-shaped knocker.

“No, no, no,” Raven gritted her teeth. “What part of ‘ _no’_ do you not understand, Finn?”

“Raven,” his face was annoyingly contrite, “We have to talk sometime.”

She smiled at him coldly, “Actually, the funny thing is, we don’t have to talk. _Ever._ ” She looked past him towards the bronze warden. “Ales, _abyssus abyssum invocat._ Let me in. _”_

The knocker rippled as it came to life. The eagle’s bronze eyes opened to reveal fathomless, obsidian orbs beneath. Its great beak parted and a sharp voice spoke, “ _Sapere Aude_ , young witch. A riddle for a Ravenclaw…. What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment and never in a thousand years?”

“Please, Raven. Shutting me out isn’t the answer. Don’t do this to me… to us.” Finn pleaded.

Raven laughed. She actually laughed. “ _You_ did this to us. _You._ Not me, not _Clarke_ … _You_.” She stepped by him to stand in front of the bronze eagle. “The answer is M. The letter M, Ales. Now, open the damn door.”

Finn reached for her, “Look, I didn’t mean--”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Finn.” Raven snapped, stepping away from him as the wall behind the knocker began to shift, to part. Finn moved to block her path.

“Rav-”

“What’s going on?” Jasper had just arrived at Ravenclaw tower. He walked up behind Raven. “You okay?” He looked down at her questioningly.

“Yeah. Fine,” she said, her eyes not leaving Finn. “Goodnight, Finn.”

She grabbed Jasper’s hand and dragged him through the arched opening, brushing past Finn and somehow resisting the urge to shove him. Raven dropped Jasper’s hand once they were on the other side of the door.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked again, putting the hand she had dropped on her shoulder and turning her to face him.

“Did you miss the part where I mentioned I don’t want to talk about it?” she said with bite, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t… Not with Finn, not with you, not with anyone.”

He nodded, trying and failing to hide his hurt expression. It made Raven’s heart clench. “I understand,” he said and she made to turn around. “But,” he continued, his hand stopping her, “if or when you do want to talk about it. I’m here… just so you know.”

His lips pulled into a wide smile and she couldn’t help but return it with a grin of her own. His attitude was infectious. She wrapped her arm around his waist as he slid his hand to her other shoulder. “Want to play a round of Wizard’s Chess before bed?”

Raven smirked, “Are you sure you’re going to be able to sleep after I cream you?”

“Ha!” Jasper laughed animatedly in her face. “Challenge accepted.”

The two walked arm in arm into the common room where their friends were waiting. Being back at Hogwarts with Monty and Jasper, Raven couldn’t help but feel like she was finally home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Clarke's been sorted ;) Were you expecting her to be in Slytherin? Let me know in the comments! Chapter three will be out next Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Here’s chapter three albeit a bit late. I was traveling and had trouble getting the editing done until now. I’m really sorry! This chapter and the next one only feature four out of the five POV characters. It just ended up working out that way when I was writing. But, if your fav doesn’t show up in this chapter, never fear... they will be in the next! 
> 
> As always a special shout out to my betas dracoterrae9099 and NutHeda. You guys are the BEST <3

Chapter 3:   
_**Magic: A History** _

* * *

I slipped into a cave one day   
I never thought I'd leave that place   
When I woke up the sky had fallen down   
Our thoughts are written on our face   
We try to run and change our fate   
But time will always catch us in disguise

Oh I hear you lost your head again   
Oh boy, looks like old days are here to stay, my friends   
My friends   
**My Friends - The Head and the Heart**

* * *

The smell of sizzling bacon and syrupy waffles wafted from the Great Hall, guiding Octavia like a beacon. Images of dancing hotcakes, singing sausage links, and tap-dancing jugs of pumpkin juice filled her drowsy head. She bit back a yawn, still half-asleep, and stretched her arms overhead as she entered the hall. Unsurprisingly, none of the food appeared to be dancing on the tables. Even in the wizarding world, food that sang—or spoke, for that matter—was considered highly unusual.

Octavia scanned the room, looking for her group of friends and found them sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Well, what would be the Hufflepuff table in the evening. No one seemed to care about house divisions during breakfast or lunch. The only exception to this behavior was Slytherin, whose table was always segregated no matter the time of day. Octavia wasn’t bothered by this at all since she couldn’t think of a single Slytherin with whom she would enjoy spending time. They were all pretty much two-faced and untrustworthy in her book. She hadn’t always felt that way, but naivety is a symptom of youth which only time can cure. After being burned by Murphy a year ago, she considered herself fully disillusioned on that account.

Raven waved at her from the Hufflepuff table. Octavia returned the gesture and made her way across the room. She had barely walked ten steps before a brown-haired boy stepped into her path. _Atom._ Octavia crossed her arms, her face an open book of irritation and anger.

“What do you want, Atom?” she sighed.

“I just want to talk,” he said, holding his hands up.

Octavia bit out a laugh, “You want to talk? You’re _unbelievable_.”

“Come on, Octavia. Give us another shot.”

She cocked her head to one side, giving him a puzzled look. “You do remember that you literally ran away from me the other day?”

“What?” Atom spluttered, his face turning red. “That wasn’t-- I didn’t--”

“Look Atom,” Octavia patted his chest like she might pat a child on the head. “I’m not interested anymore. I know you’re only talking to me because Bellamy’s not around. You lost your chance the minute you listened to my brother. Better luck next time though.” She gave him small shrug before walking away. _Another one bites the dust,_ she thought. Still, there was no use crying over spilt milk. She tossed her head and smiled devilishly at the looks of curiosity coming from her friends.

“What?” she asked when she sat down and the stares didn’t stop.

“You just seem… cheery for someone who was so upset about the whole Atom-Bellamy thing…” Raven responded with a small shrug.

“You knock me down and I…” Octavia prodded, looking expectantly at her peers.

“Get the fuck back up again,” Jasper, Monty, and Harper chorused as if they’d said it a hundred times.

Raven laughed, “That’s awesome. How have I not heard that before?”

“Octavia said it all the time in third year when we got bad marks on tests,” Harper said, shaking her head at the memory.

“What can I say? I’m resilient…and starving. Stop talking to me so I can eat.” Octavia said as she filled her plate generously with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage.

The group laughed, but of course, no one stopped talking. Monty asked everyone what their first class of the day was. Harper and Octavia had Potions with Professor Griffin. Monty had Advanced Herbology, while Jasper was taking a seminar class called ‘Theory of Divination.’ Raven had a free period before Advanced History of Magic.

“Theory of Divination, Jasper? Really?” Monty rolled his eyes at his best friend.

“I heard it’s really just glorified tea time. Crumpets and all. There are no tests, only one ‘group presentation’ at the end of term.” Harper said, always reliable with little tidbits of information.

“Where do I sign up?” Octavia asked.

“It’s a sixth year class,” Raven shrugged apologetically at Octavia’s disappointed expression.

“How are you going to get a job if you take joke classes for our last two years?” Monty asked Jasper, obviously worried for him and a little annoyed.

“I think the real question we should be asking is why Raven is up so early if she has a free period…” Jasper diverted the conversation away from him.

“I like to get an early start to my day,” Raven said defensively. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to get to the library.”

“We don’t have any homework yet! What could you possibly be doing in the library?” Jasper asked indignantly as Raven got out of her seat.

“I need a book for class.” Raven laughed, “It’s not a crime to go to the library, you know.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jasper muttered.

“Oh, look at that, I _just_ did,” Raven threw over her shoulder as she left the group.

“You’re such a smart ass, Reyes,” Jasper yelled after her.

“Stop talking about my ass, Jordan,” Raven shouted back. Her spirits were high as she left the Great Hall; nothing took her mind off of… _life_ like good friends and good food.

The library was largely unpopulated; only a few students dotted the tables and stacks, all of whom Raven recognized as regulars of the dusty tomes. She was no different. The library was her sanctuary. Well, the library and the office of her Muggle Studies professor. Raven loved tinkering with car parts and muggle machinery and Professor Sinclair was always happy to accommodate her. There was something so rewarding about getting her hands greasy and fixing something without magic.

In truth, she had all the books she needed for class. Raven was really in the library to look for an old book on muggle aeronautics. She had heard about it over the summer and decided to root through Hogwarts’ extensive archives before spending any of her savings. The school library had never failed her in the past.

It didn’t take Raven long to find what she was looking for; she knew the library like the back of her hand. After checking the book out with Madam Tsing, Raven found a table in the corner and sat down to read _Theory of Flight_ by von Mises. She sighed happily as she began to read about aeronautical engineering like it was a trashy romance novel. Raven had barely finished the first chapter when her attention was pulled away by person loudly clearing their throat.

Roan plopped down in the chair next to her, his face spread wide in a lethal grin. “Hey, Reyes.”

Her face turned a bright shade of scarlet as she remembered their last encounter. “Leave me alone, Roan.”

“What is aero-dyn-amics?” He said, sounding out out the last word slowly.

“Roan, _this_ ,” Raven motioned to the room around her, “is my safe space. _No one_ fucks with me in my safe space. Got it?”

“Just let me say some--”

“No,” Raven hissed.

The grin fell from Roan’s face, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Roan stood up abruptly and his chair squeaked loudly against the wooden floor, calling attention to the two. Everyone was looking in their direction, even Finn who had just walked through the door. Raven sent a small prayer up to whatever god was listening as Finn started to walk towards her.

“Wait,” she grabbed Roan’s wrist pulling him back down. “Pretend I said something funny and laugh.”

“What?” he asked, stunned.

“Just laugh!” Raven kicked him under the table. “You. Owe. Me.”

Roan let out a yelp at her swift footwork, but it turned quickly into a laugh. It was pained albeit, but a laugh nonetheless. His eyes narrowed, never leaving hers.

“Seriously?” Roan asked incredulously.

 **“** Don’t say anything,” Raven smiled sweetly at him. “Just go with it. You know kind of like you did the other day when I thought you were Bellamy!” She hissed the last part at him before laughing and throwing her hair playfully over her shoulder. Her performance was forced, but it had the desired effect. When she looked back, Finn was nowhere to be seen. Her smile dropped immediately.

“May I remind you,” Roan said, his voice a low whisper as he met her glare without flinching, “that I was the one vulnerable and unconscious _in the dark_ before you woke me up… rather aggressively I might add.”

Raven fought the flush that was threatening to return to her face. She looked away from him, muttering under her breath.

“What?” He asked, obviously unable to hear what she said.

“I said Bellamy’s name when I walked into the compartment.” She snapped.

“I was asleep!” Roan threw his hands up.

“I know, I know!” Raven said defensively, then sighed, “Sorry for _attacking_ you.”

Roan stared at her obviously unable to make up his mind whether she was being sarcastic or sincere. He seemed to decide that he didn’t care.

“Well, I apologize for not saying anything during… you know,” Roan coughed, not looking at her. The moment of boyish earnestness was broken as soon as he turned back to grin shamelessly at her, “I did like being attacked though so if you want to do it again sometime--”

“Just go,” Raven moaned and dropped her head onto the table as the blush crept up her cheeks once more.

“Right,” Roan said cheerfully. “Well, consider it a standing offer!”

“Mm-hmm,” Raven grunted without looking up and shooed him away with her hand.

 _God that was embarrassing._ First Roan, and then Finn, and then Roan. _Ugh._ This year was going to be a cluster-fuck of emotions, Raven just knew it. She looked up at the clock on the wall and realized that she needed to leave now or she would be late. She gathered her school bag and after carefully placing her newly acquired book into it, made for the door. She passed a table with a few whispering second years who were staring at her. Did they think she wouldn’t notice? Really?

“What are you looking at, twerps?” She growled at them. They all shifted their gazes away quickly, looking nervous.

Raven smirked and pushed through the library doors. Her feet beat a quick rhythm against the flagstones as she flew down the steps two at a time. She reached the first floor classroom with a few minutes to spare.

A frown creased her tan face when she attempted to open the door. The handle was locked. She jiggled it, but the wood wouldn’t budge. As she began her second attempt, bright letters appeared upon the door:

 

_Attention Sixth Year Students:_

_Advanced History of Magic will be held in Professor Kane’s office._

_Fourth Floor. Room 4A. Chop, chop!_

 

Raven cursed loudly and pivoted on the spot, taking off like a green racehorse. She hated being late. Her steps quickened as she navigated the stairwells back the way she came. Up, up, up until she entered at a long corridor on the fourth floor. The door labeled 4A was open in welcome, sporting a little handwritten sign reading _‘You made it!’_ in gold ink. Hoisting her bag further onto her shoulder from where it had slipped, Raven put on her game face and entered the room.

The office was bright and airy, filled with the yellow glow of natural light which poured from the ceiling-high windows that made up the far wall. A dark walnut table took up a large portion of the room and Raven saw that most of the seats were already occupied by students. Behind the table was a large ornate tapestry and a desk of similar style upon which Professor Kane was perched.

“Welcome, Miss Reyes,” Kane greeted with a tone as luminous as his office. “I’m glad you saw my little note.”

“Just barely, sir,” Raven replied, trying to keep the snark from her voice. She found a seat next to a Gryffindor girl whose name she couldn’t remember… Bethany Waters? Barbara Waters? Bonnie Waters? Well, her last name was definitely ‘Waters,’ that much was sure.

Raven took out a piece of parchment and a muggle fountain pen, ignoring the stare that Bethany-Barbara-Bonnie Waters was giving her. Quill and ink were so impractical when you could simply refill a fountain pen.

“That’s it, girls and boys.” Professor Kane clapped his hands together and hopped off his desk, striding up to take a seat at the head of the table. “Class has officially begun! We’re still missing a student, but… his loss--”

Bellamy Blake huffed through the open door, pausing to put his hands on his knees and breathe deeply. He waved his hand at the onlookers; he was fine, just out of breath. His hair was pushed to one side, like he had just been sleeping on it, which, in fact, he had.

“Well that was quite the entrance, Mr. Blake. Please sit down,” Professor Kane motioned to the table.

Bellamy straightened, then gave the whole room a deep bow and cavelier smile before plopping down in the open seat next to Raven.

“Did I miss anything?” Bellamy whispered out of the side of his mouth while he pulled supplies from his school bag.

“Just a few cylinders at birth,” Raven sniped back, not turning to look at him.

Bellamy chuckled under his breath and glanced around the table. There were only a handful of students in the room, most of whom he knew fairly well, except one particular blonde. The ever-intriguing Clarke Griffin was sitting across from Bellamy, giving him the most contemptuous look he had ever received…which was a feat in itself. He raised his eyebrows and shot her a grin. It had the opposite effect than he intended, further deepening the frown she wore. _Worth a shot,_ he told himself.

“Now that everyone is present,” the professor’s gaze lingered on Bellamy, “let us begin. Please pull out the assigned reading materials so I can ensure everyone is properly prepared for the term. Today, and for the first month of this class, we will be discussing one of my favorite books by Delphis Mandagle, _The Evolution of Magic._ ”

Professor Kane began to make his way around the table, checking the stacks of books produced by each student. Bellamy closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself for the inevitable reprimand. Professor Kane was bound to notice that his stack was significantly shorter than the other students.

“Mr. Blake?” Kane’s voice came from overhead and the man’s wand tapped against lacking materials.

Bellamy cleared his throat, looking straight ahead, “I’ll have them all by next class, sir.”

“I’m sure you will,” was all Kane said, placing a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder before moving on to the next student. Bellamy’s throat tightened and his devil-may-care facade slipped for a millisecond. There was no sarcasm or ire in Kane’s voice, just simple understanding. To Bellamy, that was so much worse. Throw insults at him. Expect failure. He could take it; being tough and defensive was Bellamy’s modus operandi…but vulnerability? _Never._ He would die before telling Professor Kane that the reason he didn’t have most of the books was because he had spent the school’s small allowance on Octavia. He might have to feel inadequate and receive the disapproving stares from teachers for the first week while he tracked down outdated editions in the library, but he would be damned before he let his sister feel that way.

“Could you _be_ any less prepared for this class?” Raven asked haughtily as Kane finished his round on the table.

“Bite me, Raven,” Bellamy rolled his eyes at her, thankful for an excuse to slip back into his comfort zone.

“No, thank you,” She snipped back. Bellamy faced forward and noticed that Clarke was still staring at him. _Huh._ As soon as she realized she had been caught staring, Clarke turned to whisper something to the other Slytherin in the class. Bellamy recognized her as Murphy’s girlfriend, Emori.

“Now, before you open your books, I would like to get a sense of how much you already know about the history of magic.” The entire table adopted an expression of confusion. Some, like Raven, were looking at Professor Kane as if he was crazy. He had after all been their sole teacher in the subject for the past five years.

Kane tapped his index finger against his top lip, “Hmmm, perhaps I can rephrase it as a question…What do you know about _our_ beginning,” he gestured widely around the table. A tentative hand went up.

“There is no need to raise your hand, Miss Sims. This is a seminar class. If you have something to say, simply say it,” Professor Kane nodded towards the petite Ravenclaw girl at the other end of the table.

“Well,” the girl cleared her throat anxiously. “There are our founders obviously: Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin-”

“Quite right; however, I was not referring to the beginning of Hogwarts, but rather the beginning of _magic_.” Professor Kane smiled, unperturbed by the vacant looks he was receiving. “Perfect! If you already knew about the evolution of magic, then this class would be of little use to you. Now, put away your books and, as most of you have probably not done the assigned reading anyways, I’ll give you a summary of what this class will entail. This is your one and only freebie.

“Our history - the history of magic - starts not unlike the history of muggles. Long ago, about two hundred thousand years, there were two distinct species of man: Homo sapiens and Neanderthals. Both of these species lived in competition for food, water, and shelter; however, the Neanderthals had one advantage… _magic._ ”

As Professor Kane spoke, his wand seemed to dance in his hand, sending images of gold dust floating into the air to illustrate the story. All of the students sat entranced. Kane continued:

“This magic was different, more primitive than what we learn today. You must remember, this was before the invention of wands. It takes years of long study to be able to do wandless magic even now, so you can imagine the restrictions this cast on our ancestors long ago. Their power consisted of runes - a sort of magical language - and the infusion of magic into plants and animals. But I digress into specificity… Where was I? Oh, yes… the Neanderthals had the advantage of magic and time. They were more evolved than the Homo sapiens; however, their evolution created problems of its own. Our species was divided, half believing in the superiority of their race and half desiring coexistence with others. The tension created by this division grew until it came to a head around forty thousand years ago. The dark faction of our ancestors wanted to wipe Homo sapiens off the earth and they began to shape the tools at their disposal to their sinister purpose, creating what we call ‘magical biowarfare.’ In order to prevent the extinction of an entire species, the light faction waged war on their own brothers… a civil war which took many lives. According to muggle history, the Neanderthals died out; however, the true story is that the surviving members of the light faction removed themselves from the outside world for the protection of all. Homo sapiens were left in peace to evolve into the muggles of today and our ancestors - the Neanderthals - gave rise to us.” Kane paused for affect, “Any questions?”

Half of the group raised their hands and then lowered them, remembering his earlier reprimand. Raven spoke up first, of course.

“Sir, if Neanderthals and Homo sapiens - wizards and muggles - were indeed different species, then doesn’t that contradict the emergence of muggleborns… Homo sapiens with magic?”

Professor Kane nodded eagerly, “Excellent question, Ms. Reyes. There are two schools of thought on that matter…One is that both our ancestors had over a millennia to cohabitate both culturally and sexually, which we can observe in the modern makeup of the wizarding world. Hardly any families are truly ‘pureblood,’ or solely descended from Neanderthals, so the belief is that the intermixing of the two species over the years created latent traits in muggles who at some point had a wizard ancestor.”

“So, in other words, muggleborns are really just sixteenth-blood or twentieth-blood rather than truly muggles?” Bellamy asked, curious.

“Perhaps,” Kane continued, “but, the other school of thought maintains that Homo sapiens - the ancestors of muggles - were _just_ as magical as Neanderthals; however, their more primitive society idolized or alienated anyone with such abilities to the point where being extraordinary was dangerous, making Homo sapiens with magic more and more rare.”

The discussion continued for the remainder of the hour with Kane calling on anyone who tried to remain particularly silent. It was an annoying habit really. Thankfully, he seemed to be giving Clarke a pass, but she couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. Her mind seemed to plead the former.

When the ornate chroniker behind Kane’s desk struck eleven, a parade of miniature, gold badgers paraded across the ceiling before disappearing back into the clock’s dark mahogany face.

Kane sighed, “Now, I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today, but before you go… I will give twenty-five points to whoever can guess what subject that we study today evolved from the magical biowarfare of long ago!”

“Potions,” Clarke said, finally breaking her silence.

“Very good, Miss Griffin! Twenty-five points to Slytherin. Now, off you go. You don’t want to be late for your next class.”

Clarke couldn’t help but notice that the other students seemed less than pleased she had answered correctly, though the observation didn’t bother her. Durmstrang had not been exactly sunshine and daisies in that department either. _Competition is always healthy if it pushes you to do better,_ her dad had always told her. Clarke shoved that thought away as she stood up from the table. She stuffed her books and school supplies into her bag, pausing when she felt a friendly punch against her shoulder. It was Emori.

“Good job, Griffin! I knew you’d be useful,” Emori grinned, slinging her already full bag over her shoulders. “What class do you have next?”

Clarke checked her schedule, “Potions.” She grimaced, throwing the rest of her bag together before following Emori out of Kane’s office.

“Ooooh,” Emori gave Clarke a sympathetic look. “Potions with Professor Griffin. Double trouble.”

Clarke shrugged her shoulder. She’d survive, she always did. Emori stopped mid-stride and Clarke almost ran into the girl. Murphy was leaning against the far wall at the end of the corridor, giving them the weirdest, shit-eating grin.

“Cancel all your plans, Clarke Griffin,” Emori’s excitement radiated as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “You are in for a treat!”

“I am _not_ having a three-way with you and Murphy,” Clarke said sarcastically, trying to swallow her deep skepticism.  

Emori threw her head back and laughed, “No, it’s nothing sexual.”

Murphy stepped forward when they neared him. “Ready to become a real Slytherin, Clarke?”

“Umm…” Clarke looked back and forth between the couple. Their expressions were excited, too excited. “I think so?”

“Great, we’re skipping class!” Murphy winked at Emori.

“But-” Clarke looked around, trying to figure out if she wanted to find an excuse to back out. Their sheer joy was suffocating.

“Clarke, it’s Potions…with _your mother,_ ” Emori stressed, looking at Clarke as if she was insane. _Am I insane?_ Clarke thought derisively. She definitely didn’t want to spend an hour in the dungeons with Abby.

“Good point. I’m in,” Clarke nodded and let the two of them drag her downstairs. Clarke had no idea where they were heading. She still hadn’t managed to get her bearings on the castle and the swift pace didn’t help her at all. She knew when they passed by the turnoff for the Slytherin common room, which threw Clarke’s only guess at a destination out of the window.  

“Where are we going?” she asked when they emerged into the viaduct courtyard, trying not to snap. She had two pet peeves that irked her more than anything: she hated being out of the loop and she hated following other people. Clarke was doing both of those things right now.

“You’ll see.” Murphy said, leading the trio down some stairs off to the side of the courtyard. After what felt like a thousand steps, the stairs became a shallow stone landing that jutted out from the castle’s foundation, far below the Great Hall. Clarke realized that they must be parallel with the dungeons by now. Emori and Murphy walked forward and disappeared into the stone face of the cliff. Clarke took a few steps forward cautiously, then realized that the two had simply turned down a hidden passage in the rock wall. She braced herself against the damp darkness of the tunnel and then pushed forward.

“ _Lumos,_ ” she murmured, her wand coming to life. The tunnel was long and she couldn’t see anything at the end. Murphy and Emori had already disappeared. A sense of dread stole over Clarke, but she forced herself to keep breathing evenly. _I’m not afraid_ , she told herself as though she could will the thought into existence. As she continued down the black passageway, Clarke was able to make out noises. There were voices growing louder and louder and a light at the end of the tunnel. The distant glow drew closer until the path turned sharply and Clarke suddenly found herself in a cavernous room hewn out of murky, black stone. She was in the very bowels of the castle. The voices she had heard were coming from a group of twenty or so students all wearing the same green-lined robes as Clarke.

“Glad you didn’t chicken out!” Emori popped into view again. “Sorry ‘bout that, but all newbies have to come through on their own. It’s tradition.”

Clarke shook her head, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. “You could’ve warned me.”

“Nah, that takes away most of the fun,” Murphy piped in.

“Where am I?” Clarke murmured more to herself than anyone else.

“The boathouse,” a new voice said, and Clarke stopped looking around to focus on the person in front of her. It was Anya. “After the first years are brought in, these rowboats just sit here most of the year. We like to put them to good use.”

Clarke glanced over and saw that a few Slytherins were fastening the boats together to form a makeshift barge. Others were carrying baskets or boxes, but Clarke couldn’t tell what was inside them.

“Coming?” Clarke saw that Anya was waiting for her. Everyone else was beginning to pile on the ark. It looked dangerous and fun… Clarke could use some fun.

“Definitely.” Clarke replied and followed the older girl onto the raft. Anya handed her an oar to paddle with. It was comical, really. It took them ten minutes just to get out of the boathouse, but once they did, it was _so_ worth it.

After following the dark channel of water away from the dock, they emerged into the bright sunlight, which elicited a cacophony of triumphant shouts from the group. The inlet of the Great Lake that they came out into was almost a lagoon. It was completely secluded, so no one would be able to see them from the main shore, and still far enough away from the castle that its great shadow didn’t block out the sun. Clarke admitted it was a rather clever location for a score of students to skip class, unnoticed.

While Anya and a few other seventh years performed a spell to keep the raft in place, the mysterious baskets and boxes were unpacked. They revealed all sorts of treats: hard cheeses, smoked ham, treacle and brambleberry tarts, and many, many bottles of firewhiskey.

Murphy grabbed a bottle and some other snacks, bringing the assortment of goods over to where Emori, Anya, and Clarke were sitting.

“Welcome to Slytherin, Clarke,” Murphy handed her the bottle first. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a large gulp; the alcohol slid down her throat, leaving a warm burn in its place. It was wonderful.

“Glad to be here,” Clarke said. And she meant it.

They passed the bottle around their small circle and before long Clarke began to feel warm inside. The sun was strong, apparently a rare occurrence during the school year, and the Slytherins were definitely eager to take advantage of it. Most had stripped down to the bare essentials to soak up some rays.

“Watch out!” a shout went up.

A flash of orange passed by Clarke’s head, missing her by inches. She turned, her head spinning slightly at the swift motion and saw that the rest of the group had cleared a section of the barge. In the space left vacant the Slytherins began to take turns dueling. They were casting jinxes or trying to disarm each other, harmless magic in the grand scheme of things; the goal seemed to be to knock one’s opponent into the water.

Noticing this, Clarke let out a soft laugh; it felt rusty from disuse. The old Clarke would have found a reason to lecture them on safety, but surprisingly, she didn’t feel concerned at all. Maybe it was the sun, or the booze, or the company, but Clarke was enjoying herself for the first time in a long time. She was having _fun._

“Want to take a turn?” Anya said, nodding her head towards the duel.

Clarke’s smile fell slightly and she shook her head, “I shouldn’t.”

The three looked at her, obviously wanting more of an explanation than she could give.

“I get…carried away, sometimes.” She shrugged, trying to brush it off, “I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Murphy sneered.

Clarke forced a laugh, “No, it’s not. I promise.”

“Well you still have to take a plunge in the lake. It’s tradition.” Emori stated, taking another swig of firewhiskey.

Clarke raised her eyebrows, “Slytherin seems to have a lot of so-called ‘traditions.’”

Emori and Murphy were on her before she could act; Clarke was lifted unceremoniously, despite her protests, and tossed over the side of the barge. The water wasn’t as cold as she thought it would be, but the shock still took her breath away.

“Motherf… you little shi… I’m going to...ahh!” She spluttered when she broke the surface. Emori, Anya, and Murphy were laughing hard. Emori kept apologizing between fits of giggles. When Clarke caught her breath enough, she swam back to the raft. The top layer of the water was actually pleasantly warm, not that she would tell them that.

Murphy held out his hands to help Clarke onto the barge and she didn’t refuse. Midway up, Clarke gave him an evil smile and tugged. The look of shock on Murphy’s face before he somersaulted over her head into the water was fucking priceless. Clarke pulled herself onto the barge, collapsing onto her back and cackling mercilessly. Anya and Emori froze mid laugh, their faces held disbelief. Their shock lasted less than a second before they bent forward, laughing even harder than before.

The four spent the next two hours eating, drinking, and swimming. Clarke skipped potions, her free period, and lunch, but as the day dragged on and her last class approached, she felt an urgency to attend.

“I really, really should go, you know?” she said gathering her scattered clothes which were mercifully dry. “What if the new Professor gives me detention because of skipping…you said detention is awful…oh god, what if he _expels_ me? Actually that’s not the worst plan…no, I really should go. I do like charms.”

Emori buried her face in Murphy’s chest, her body shaking with laughter. Murphy looked at Clarke like she had sprouted horns. “You are the most talkative drunk, Griffin.”

“Shhhh, Murphy. Shhh.” Clarke whispered, “I’m trying to find my shirt.”

“Are you going to-” Emori hiccuped slightly, “hear it?”

“Give her a break,” Anya said from where she was sunbathing. “I think it’s cute, Clarke.”

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled at her new friend, distracted.

“One small question,” Murphy held up two fingers, then quickly put one of them down. “ _How_ are you going to get back?”

“Swim, of course,” Clarke replied like she’d never heard a dumber question.

“I’ll go with you,” Anya said, stretching and standing up. “I should get back anyways.”

“You two are no fun!” Emori pouted, until Murphy whispered something in her ear, after which she seemed perfectly happy to let Anya and Clarke leave.

“Here,” Anya placed a bubble charm on each of their heads and around their dry clothes. It took a few tries; afterall, alcohol and magic don’t complement each other well.  

Clarke dove into the lake, loving the silky feeling of the water on her skin. It was the perfect temperature now. She followed Anya away from the barge and around the bend of the inlet that separated them from the main lake. The two girls kept a surprisingly fast pace despite the fact that both were much more intoxicated than was conducive to swimming; even so, they reached the main shore of the lake after a couple of minutes. Only a few people dotted the grounds, most too far away to notice two girls emerging from the water’s depths.

“Your clothes, miss.” Anya bowed genially.

“Many thanks,” Clarke curtsied, taking her armful of clothing. “This was fun.”

“Get used to it, Griffin. We, Slytherins, are a fun bunch,” Anya said and then turned like she had heard someone call her name. “Oh shit. Well, gotta go! I spy my girlfriend and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea about this…”

Both girls were in only their underwear, holding their clothes. Clarke blushed and laughed awkwardly. Damn, she was pretty drunk.

Anya walked away, but turned back to shout, “You should try out for the Quidditch team! Next Tuesday!”

Clarke made a thumbs up and watched the older girl jog away. Yep, she was definitely drunk. Looking around, she spied some bushes halfway between where she stood and the castle. _I can make that._

She walked determinedly towards the coverage, holding her breath until she was tucked safely behind a bush. Her attempt to get dressed and hold the rest of her clothes at the same time lasted for about half a minute before Clarke realized it was unrealistic. Being drunk was only fun when you didn’t have to _do_ anything. Sighing out her frustration, she held onto her skirt and threw the rest of her clothes on top of the bush. Well, that was what she intended to do, but depth perception was a bitch and her clothes went flying over the other side of the traitorously short plant.

There was a grunt on impact and a stunned voice said, “What the hell?”

Clarke froze, breathing shallowly. She looked down at the skirt in her hand. Should she make a run for the water?

“Hello?” the voice said again.

“Hi,” Clarke’s mouth responded before her brain could make a decision. Gasping, she clasped a hand tightly over her mouth and cursed inwardly.

“You seem to be missing a few things.” She heard a rustle of movement and feared the worst.

“Don’t move!” She shouted, then added more calmly. “Stay where you are, please.”

“Ok…”

“Could you pass over my shirt?”

“Just your shirt?”

“I said shirt, didn’t I?”

“Right, sorry.”

Clarke pulled on her skirt quickly and then took her shirt that was tossed over the barrier like a white flag. After buttoning the shirt with great effort, Clarke tucked it in and pulled her wet hair off her shoulders. She stepped out from behind the bush and came face to face with the boy from the great hall, from class earlier, the one that kept staring at her.  

“Oh,” he breathed, his eyes wide. In surprise?

He was much taller than she had imagined. He’d been sitting for the majority of their interactions… if they could be called that. They had just stared at each other, really. No. He had stared at her. She had _not_ done any staring. Well, maybe a little bit, but that was beside the point. Clarke shook her head and realized that she hadn’t said anything. He appeared to have noticed the same thing because his face reddened and he stuck his hands out, which were full of her clothes.

“Thanks,” she murmured, distracted by how the flush of color spread from the bottom of his face upwards. It was really interesting. _Oh my god, I am never drinking Firewhiskey again._ She grabbed the clothes out of his hands. He nodded and turned around to give her privacy even though she was practically dressed. She dropped her robes and shoes on the grass. Why hadn’t she thought to do that in the first place? _Firewhiskey._

“I’m Bellamy, by the way,” he said, his back to her as she pulled on her sweater and green tie.

She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her and added, “Clarke.” She shoved her shoes onto her feet and threw her robes over her shoulders. “You can turn around.”

Bellamy looked at her and that annoying, rakish grin from earlier had returned to his face, “I bet there is a _great_ story behind all this.” He motioned to the bush and then back to Clarke. She wanted to wipe that stupid smile from his face; it was so obnoxiously confident. Bellamy, standing so close with that ridiculous, crooked smile, was making her feel funny.

She crossed her arms, “Yeah. There is.”

“Alright, keep your secrets, Clarke,” his smile just grew wider if possible. God, it was frustrating how easily he smiled. Didn’t he know it was hard for some people? So rude.

“I have to go.” Clarke lifted her chin, haughtily. “Thank you for returning my clothes.”

“Anytime,” Bellamy replied, his brown eyes twinkling. _They are not twinkling!_

“What?” His brows furrowed, confusion written clearly across his face.

“What?”

“I said, ‘anytime’ and then you said, ‘they’re not twinkling.’” Bellamy looked at her, obviously expecting a rational explanation.

“No, I didn’t.” _Dear god._

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah, OK.” Clarke scoffed, backing away. _Oh, my god. Stop. Talking._ She turned on her heels and walked back towards the castle as fast as her legs would carry her.

“I’ll see you around then?” Bellamy shouted after her, but she didn’t turn around. Her head was spinning. Who was she kidding? She was definitely not going to Charms class. She was going to take a long nap and, if she was lucky, never wake up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! Sorry for the lack of Lexa... It's a crime, I know! She will have a big POV in the next chapter! I plan to have a more even distribution of POVs as the story progresses so that each character features in each chapter and no one feels left out. Leave a comment if you have the time! They always brighten my day <3 Until next time Xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> There are two matters to discuss before jumping into chapter four… 
> 
> A few readers have expressed frustration in regard to the tagging/relationship endgames for this story. I’ve tried to put some information about this into the previous A/Ns as well as in response to the initial comments without compromising the mystery/plot of the story. As I’ve said, I enjoy both BC and CL and that is the perspective from which I’m writing. If you need one of them to be endgame in order to enjoy the overall story and feel satisfied, you may not be happy. That said, one ship is not going to sail at the expense of another. _Everyone_ is going to get an unhealthy dose of angst. This story is only part one of a two-part series! If you are concerned about the tagging and/or the relationships in this story, I’ve posted at greater length about my feelings on the whole issue. You can find that [ here ](https://thefutureunseen.tumblr.com/post/171019861555/to-those-concerned-with-the-relationships-and-the) on my Tumblr. Also if you have any questions or want to chat about your concerns, I am open to that as long as it is a respectful conversation! 
> 
> The second matter to discuss is the clarification of the main characters' ages/years. Thank you to APhilosophicalThought for asking about this because when I looked back, it really isn’t all that clear. Sorry about that! For reference…
> 
> **5th Years:** Octavia and Harper  
>  **6th Years:** Wells, Finn, Nathan, Luna, Jasper, Raven, Monty, Clarke, Lexa, Emori, Murphy, and Bellamy (He is actually 17, but there is a reason why he is in 6th year… more on that later)  
>  **7th Years:** Roan, Anya, and Lincoln 
> 
> I actually have an excel chart with all the students and teachers in their specific houses and I can share that on Tumblr if anyone is interested in seeing that for reference! 
> 
> Now that those two things are out of the way, please enjoy chapter four! Leave a comment if you so wish <3

Chapter 4:  
**_Try, Try Again_ **

* * *

Tell me what you want to hear  
Something that will light those ears  
Sick of all the insincere  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away  
This time, don't need another perfect lie  
Don't care if critics ever jump in line  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away  
 **Secrets - OneRepublic**

* * *

“At this point your potion should be darkening to a nice, dusky pink,” Professor Griffin’s measured voice echoed through the dimly lit dungeon. She spoke rhythmically, like a metronome, no doubt intending to lull her student’s into a false sense of calm. _It’s not working, lady,_ Octavia thought bitterly as she pushed her damp hair out of her eyes. She had been standing over this hot cauldron for the past hour and her face felt like a furnace. Not much broke Octavia’s optimistic attitude, but Potions class had ranked number one in that department four years running. It had to be some kind of record. _Just five more drops of my blood and sweat. Look, it’s perfect!_ The sarcastic little voice in Octavia’s head mocked.

She had just finished stirring the potion thirteen times in a clockwise direction, but it was still milky white… and it definitely looked much frothier than the picture in her textbook. Maybe a few more mistletoe berries would do the trick. Octavia sliced two more berries thinly before popping them in the milky potion. It instantly turned a fluorescent purple.

“ _Noooo,_ ” Octavia breathed, glancing around to make sure Professor Griffin wasn’t close enough to notice. “Don’t do this to me!” She whispered angrily at her discolored cauldron. Glancing back at her textbook she saw with growing dread that there was only one step left.

_Stir once in a figure eight motion and then trace the figure eight backwards to completion._ _The potion should turn dark crimson._

_You have now successfully made a blood-replenishing potion!_

Octavia held her breath and stirred as instructed. Her potion turned a muddy brown color. _Shit._ She glanced over at Harper’s cauldron and saw a beautiful, blood-red potion.

Professor Griffin walked ceremoniously around the room giving each student feedback, some were even asked to bottle and deliver their potion to the hospital wing. No one would be drinking her potion if they could help it; Octavia didn’t even want to think about _what_ it would replenish. The professor arrived at her cauldron examining it at long length.

“It appears you did not stir quite enough, Miss Blake. My best guess is that you stirred perhaps eleven instead of thirteen times… and added a few too many mistletoe berries,” Professor Griffin said, not unkindly. Harper’s potion was declared to be perfect, of course.

“Please clean up your stations and then come down to my desk to receive the results for your aptitude test,” Professor Griffin addressed the class having finished her rounds. “Now, some of you might be wondering why you were asked to take this exam so early in the semester, but those are most likely the same individuals who have forgotten that the Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations are taken in one’s fifth year. As such, I’ve given your test the same grade you would receive if it was indeed your Potions O.W.L.”

As Professor Griffin returned to her desk with a swish of her rich purple robes, Octavia hurried to clean her cauldron. She never liked lingering in the dungeons longer than was required. It was a soul sucking place. The cleaning process was waylaid by the atrocious brown goo that now clung to the sides of her cauldron. By the time she was finished, Octavia was one of the few people left in the classroom. She put the remaining ingredients back in the storage cupboard and made her way reluctantly to the professor’s desk.

The older woman laid a sheet of parchment in front of her that was marred by a large red ‘D.’ Octavia’s heart sank.

“Do you know what ‘D’ stands for in your O.W.L.s, Miss Blake?” Professor Griffin asked, her expression stern.

“Delightful?” Octavia smiled, weakly.

“That’s clever, Miss Blake, but, unfortunately, your cleverness has not helped you to improve at potions,” Professor Griffin sighed. “I know you have expressed to Professor Indra that you would like to become an Auror… a very noble profession. I’m sure there is much Indra could teach you. You must know that she was one for many years before retiring to teach…  However, to even be considered for Auror training you have to achieve N.E.W.T. level in potions. In order to do that, you _must_ pass your O.W.L.s and right now that does not look promising.”

“I know that, Professor. I am try-”

Professor Griffin held up her hand, silencing Octavia. “You need help, Miss Blake. Guidance. Someone who can work individually with you to redirect all that cleverness. I would do it myself; however, the combination of running the hospital wing and teaching potions demands more time than I have at the moment.”

“Professor, I do want help, but-”

“Good. I’ve asked one of my best students to mentor you this year. He’s in his seventh year and studying for his N.E.W.T.s so it should work out quite nicely for you both.” Professor Griffin looked up as the door to the classroom opened, “Ahh, Lincoln, right on time as always.”

Octavia spun around, wanting to see who had intruded on the scene of her humiliation. A tall guy sporting Hufflepuff robes strode towards her, walking between the rows of desks with easy purpose. His face was strikingly handsome; he had dark bronze skin that was only accented by the soft glow from the wall sconces. Octavia was so distracted by the newcomer that she momentarily forgot her frustration. He drew up beside her and gave her a cursory glance before addressing Professor Griffin.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” he asked. His voice had a deep, husky timber that made Octavia’s skin shiver. _Hello, trouble._

“Lincoln, this is Octavia Blake,” the older woman gestured to her. “She has been struggling with potions for some time and it is imperative that she pass her O.W.L.s with at least an Exceeds Expectations. Do you think you could manage tutoring her along with your other studies?”

Lincoln gave Octavia another glance and then nodded. “If you think it best, Professor.”

“Good. I expect bi-monthly reports on your progress together.”

Octavia fought the embarrassment that rose like bile in her throat. She wasn’t worthless. She was top of her class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and nearly top in Charms as well. It was with great restraint that she kept herself from yelling this at them. _I am calm. Totally calm. So calm._

“Thank you, Professor,” Octavia smiled tightly. “Truly, but Quidditch tryouts are starting so I’ve gotta go!” She grabbed her bag off the floor and propelled herself out of the classroom without a backwards glance. _Calm. So calm._ She repeated her mantra mentally, willing it into existence.

“Octavia!” Lincoln caught up with her quickly.

“What?!” she shouted. Then breathing deeply, “Sorry…yes?”

“Professor Griffin doesn’t mean to be like that, she has a lot on her plate.”

“Yeah, I _have_ had her for five years,” Octavia reminded him.

“Of course,” he nodded. She turned to go, but his hand shot out to stop her; it came to rest on her shoulder.  Octavia felt a shock run through her at the contact.

Lincoln pulled back his hand, “Sorry… So...”

“Yes?” she prompted as his dark eyes bored into her.

“When do you have time for tutoring?” _Oh, of course._ Octavia pushed away her disappointment; she could have sworn those hooded eyes were promising _so_ much more than tutoring. Raven was always telling her that she had an overactive imagination.

“I have fifth period on Thursday free,” Octavia offered, her eyes never leaving his.

“Great. Let’s meet in the library.”

“For potions?” she asked, unable to hide the skepticism in her voice.

“It’s best to make sure there’s a solid foundation before we build on it,” he shrugged.

“That doesn’t _only_ apply to potions,” Octavia smiled innocently, stepping forward to bring them closer.

Lincoln looked a little stunned by her advance, which could be a good or bad thing she admitted to herself. She held his gaze with a steady confidence. After a beat, he cleared his throat and took a deliberate step backwards. Decidedly bad then… _Hmm_ . _That’s a shame._

“So, Thursday at two? I’ll see you then.” He turned and walked down the hallway with the same purposeful gait with which he had entered the dungeons. _Damn it._ Maybe she did have an overactive imagination. Either way, Octavia Blake couldn’t be bothered to feel upset. Nope, not when she had Quidditch tryouts. Besides, she didn’t give up on anything that easily. She was a force of nature that even the stoic Lincoln wouldn’t be able to resist.

Octavia smiled the whole way down to the Quidditch pitch, forgetting any embarrassment or frustration she felt earlier. She took a deep breath, reveling in the smell of mud and cut grass. _So calm._ She thought smugly and made her way to the Gryffindor locker rooms.

“Where’ve you been?” Bellamy asked worriedly when she entered. He and Lexa had already changed into their flying gear… and so had everyone else it appeared.

“Uh, in class? Chill out, big brother,” Octavia laughed at Bellamy’s irritated expression. Thankfully, Bellamy didn’t push her; he raised his hands defensively and walked away to grab his broom. As always, Lexa wasn’t as easy to shake.

“Better change fast or Gryffindor might have a different Seeker this year,” Lexa said, nodding to Octavia’s clothes. Her voice was like sandpaper rubbing against Octavia’s nerves.

“Wouldn’t that make your life easier,” Octavia snapped, her words brittle. Bellamy wasn’t close by so she didn’t have to pretend. She smiled coldly at the older girl, “Roan knows I’m the best he’s got so don’t even try me, Lexa.”

Lexa growled, “Well that would be good for you if Roan was Captain this year. He’s not. I am. So watch your damn mouth and hurry up.” Octavia reeled from the older girl’s condescending tone.

Feeling white-hot heat lance through her, she hissed, “I swear to god Lexa if you ruin this for me too, I will _never_ forgive you.”

“Is that a promise?” she glared at Octavia. Lexa was so tired of this girl’s bullshit and she let her know it, “You do change your mind about every five seconds.”

“Screw you, Lexa.” The younger Blake stormed away. Lexa's mouth set into a thin line as she watched her retreat. Octavia was such a child. Lexa didn’t know what to do with her most of the time. The girl could hold a grudge like no one else.

“Lex, you coming?” Bellamy’s shout from outside brought her to attention. Lexa shoved her irritation down with practiced determination and grabbed her broom, leaving the locker room behind. She stalked onto the pitch like she was entering a battlefield. There was an impressive turnout this year; an army of soldiers stood before her, awaiting instruction. A small smile crept onto her face, so subtle that most would miss it. She had this funny feeling that in another life she had been born to lead…

“Alright, listen up,” her voice was strong and clear, reaching the far end of the crowd despite the distance. “We’ll hold the Keeper and the Chasers tryouts at the same time and then move onto the Seeker last.” Despite the angry voice in her head, she couldn’t bring herself to intentionally sabotage Octavia. Although Lexa doubted whether Octavia would have made the same choice for her.

“I have already decided that Bellamy and I will be the Beaters for Gryffindor. If you have a problem with that then we can _definitely_ hold tryouts… We’ll hit Bludgers at you, you’ll try to return the favor, and at the end we’ll see who has the most bruises!”  She smirked wickedly at the gathered students. “Any takers?” The entire crowd took a step back. Bellamy and Lexa high-fived behind their backs.

“Let’s get started! For Keeper, we’ll begin with Roan and Taylor,” Lexa barked orders. “And first Chasers will be Nathan, Luna, Malcolm, Sarah, Myka, and Amalia. We’ll play to fifty.” As everyone began to shuffle off the pitch or take to the skies, she unlocked the Quidditch box and took out the large red Quaffle.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” Bellamy saluted her.

“Are you giving me cheek, Blake?” Lexa asked, her face serious.

“No, ma’am,” he assured with gravitas, but it wasn’t very convincing because he kept cracking a smile. Lexa rolled her eyes and kicked off the ground without any warning, rising quickly above him. He was by her side in seconds.

Lexa was about to blow her whistle when another player flew up, stopping short of her.

“You’re seriously going to make me try out?” Roan asked, his voice strained.

“Absolutely,” she responded calmly.

“This is unfair,” he snapped back, glaring at her. Bellamy snorted from her other side, but Lexa threw him a look that told him to stay silent.

She turned back to Roan, “If you wanted _fair_ , you shouldn’t have pissed off Indra. Deal with your shit about me being Captain and accept it or you won’t have a shot in hell at getting on the team this year.” Lexa blew the whistle and then raised her eyebrows at Roan as if to say ‘ _what are you still doing here?_ ’ He flew off without a second look. Lexa lobbed the Quaffle into the air, watching as it fell and was swiftly caught up by Luna.

“Can we change your title from ‘Captain’ to ‘Commander’?” Bellamy joked as the air below them turned into a blur of players, whizzing around the pitch like a flock of angry birds.

Lexa chuckled, “If you can make it stick, I wouldn’t say no to being called Commander.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said as they watched Roan block the first attempt on his goal. A figure on the ground far below drew Lexa’s gaze. The speck emerged onto the field from the direction of the locker room.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Lexa drawled, eyebrows raised in barely concealed contempt.

“Come on, Lex. Give Octavia a break.” Bellamy’s brows furrowed.

“She’s driving me crazy, Bellamy. She’s on my back all the time about the smallest shit.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” he asked carefully and Lexa saw the struggle in his eyes. He had no idea how to help the two people he cared about most and it was killing him. Guilt crept into her heart and she regretted saying anything. He didn’t understand and, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t want him to understand. They could talk about anything… but not this. Octavia was off limits.  

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure it will work itself out,” Lexa muttered, turning back to the game to see Nathan score on Taylor’s goal. Unfortunately, Roan was a much more qualified Keeper.

“Nathan has gotten a lot better,” she remarked to Bellamy and learned that the guy had been practicing all summer. It was impressive. The game finished in twenty minutes with Nathan and Luna making four out of the five goals. The last goal had been partially blocked and then wacked in by Taylor.  After two more rounds of Keeper and Chaser tryouts, Roan had far out-maneuvered any of the other potential Keepers. Luna and Nathan were by far the most reliable Chasers. And in a surprising turn of events Aden, a nervous-looking second year, made three goals in his round, earning him a place as the final Gryffindor Chaser.

Everyone returned to the ground and Lexa listed the individuals whom had been chosen, thanking those whom had not as they left tired and disappointed. Lexa placed the Quaffle back into the trunk and opened the latch to release the Snitch. Again, she blew her whistle and the potential Seekers took to the air. She dismissed Roan, Luna, Nathan, and Aden as there was nothing left for them to do. The team could have their first official meeting later in the week during practice.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right?” Lexa said, turning her head towards Bellamy, “I don’t even have to watch this one. I’m just going to give it to whoever catches the Snitch first.”

“Oh no, no, no. You promised me that we would put a nest of blast-ended skrewts in Pike’s office! That’s happening. Today.”

Lexa laughed, “When did I say that?“

“Remember at the end of last year when we snuck that crumple-horned snorkack into Indra’s office and then I had detention for a week _alone_ because she wouldn’t believe that _you_ had helped me and then you said ‘it was priceless and we should--’”

“Do it again, except in Pike’s office. I remember, now,” Lexa nodded. “Well, a promise is a promise.” They sat on the grass leaning against the stands as they waited for the Snitch to be caught. Lexa chewed lazily on a piece of grass; it had a sweet, tangy taste.

“You do know how they fertilize the pitch to make the grass so green right?” Bellamy asked after she put the piece in her mouth. She gave him a blank stare.

“It’s a mixture of hippogriff urine and manure. It’s actually quite alkaline so the grass…” Lexa stopped listening and spit the grass out of her mouth, moaning and wiping the inside of her mouth out with her shirt. She only stopped when she noticed Bellamy had turned over in the grass, his back shaking in laughter.

“You, shit!” Lexa growled, giving him a swift punch to the side. He grunted and curled into a ball against her onslaught.

“Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” Bellamy gasped out in defeat, breathless from laughing so hard. He caught his breath and then began to chew on his own piece of grass, giving her a infuriating grin that almost made her go off on him again. They sat in silence for a while.

“What are you thinking about?” Lexa asked, sliding down to lay on the grass. Bellamy didn’t answer immediately as if wondering whether to share his thoughts. He must have decided to, because eventually he spoke.

“Remember when we used to pretend to have fancy dinner parties in the backyard of the orphanage, except the only thing we had to ‘serve’ was grass?” Bellamy’s voice was quiet like he didn’t know whether he could laugh at the old memory. They rarely talked about their time before Hogwarts, but it was always there…a part of them. It hadn’t been a happy time, but they had made the best of it.

“You made an excellent grass pie.” Lexa nudged him with her elbow.

“I think I had a stomach ache for a week after you actually made me eat your grass soup.” Bellamy chuckled and then looked at her, “What were _you_ thinking about?”

“Uhh,” Lexa tried to recall where her mind had been. “Oh yeah, I was thinking about Anya.”

“Dirty thoughts, I hope.” Bellamy raised his eyebrows suggestively.  

Lexa gave him a withering stare and replied, “No. She’s still annoyed with me about last week.”

“You mean when _you_ saw _her_ coming out of the lake naked with another girl?” He asked in disbelief.

“First, they weren’t naked and second… yeah, that’s what she’s upset about.”

“I’m still confused…”

Lexa sighed, “She was so worried about what I would think so I told her that it was fine and I wasn’t bothered. Of course, she interpreted that as I don’t care enough about her to be bothered that she might have been with someone else…  and now we’re in a fight. Again.”

“Yeah, that’s rough. You’re not supposed to tell a girl that you’re _not_ jealous, but you’re also not allowed to _be_ jealous.” Bellamy nodded sympathetically.

“I mean I saw her and Clarke swimming up to the shore and I didn’t automatically think ‘she’s been cheating on me!’ Isn’t that a good thing?” Lexa threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Wait, Clarke was there? You didn’t tell me that.” A look of delayed comprehension dawned on his face and he added, “It all makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“No, we’re not done talking about you. You saw Clarke naked?”

“She wasn’t naked! Ugh, you’re such a _dude_.” She shook her head with mild disgust, but Bellamy didn’t respond. She looked at him; his eyes were closed and his face was suspiciously blank. “Oh my god, stop picturing Clarke naked! You just made this weird.”  

Bellamy’s eyes flew open, panicked. “Stop saying ‘Clarke’ and ‘naked’ in the same sentence! I was trying to picture Professor Pike in his underwear, but that’s out the window now. Should I try Jaha?” He closed his eyes again.

“Gross.” Lexa was repulsed. Sometimes she wondered why the fates had given her a male best friend… Actually she wondered that all the time. Life would be _so_ much easier if Bellamy was a girl. _Stupid boys._

A shout went out and Lexa looked up to see a stream of Seekers in a nose dive. One particular Seeker was further ahead than the rest, obviously having spotted the Snitch first. It wasn’t hard to recognize the younger Blake with her long, espresso-brown hair streaming behind her or the way with which she maneuvered her broomstick. _She really does fly beautifully_ , Lexa admitted grudgingly. Octavia was getting dangerously close to the ground. Before contact became inevitable, the young Blake pulled up, barely grazing against the grass. Lexa felt Bellamy tense up beside her. Octavia reached forward, letting go of her broom entirely. She used the momentum of grabbing the Snitch to propel herself into a somersault and somehow landed her gracefully on her feet. _Damn._

Bellamy let out a big whoop, jumping to his feet when Octavia touched down. He clapped his hands together over his mouth and made a whirring noise, like thousands of fans cheering, “She’s done it again, Ladies and Gentlemen! Octavia Blake brings in the big W for Gryffindor!”

Despite her own reservations, Lexa couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes at Bellamy’s antics. Octavia was dusting herself off when the other Seekers landed, their faces drawn in disappointment. Octavia walked over to Lexa, holding the captain’s steady gaze before dropping the caught Snitch into her captain’s open palm. Octavia was silent as the grave, no customary ‘ _I told you so_ ’ escaped her lips. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to; her satisfied, jade-green eyes spoke volumes.

“Fair is fair,” Lexa said quietly, her face expressionless. She addressed the remaining crowd, “Thank you for your time and effort. Better luck next year.”

The Quidditch pitch emptied quickly, including Lexa and the Blakes. Octavia took off, citing a Charms paper that needed completing, while the other two headed towards the gamekeeper’s hut. Before they could put much distance between themselves and the field, their progress was impeded by the arrival of the Slytherin team, who appeared to be having tryouts as well. After an awkward pause, the two Gryffindors decided to avoid the large group, figuring they weren’t welcome; they were the competition after all.  

Clarke observed Lexa and Bellamy’s presence with apprehension. She was both intrigued and slightly envious of the apparent intimacy of their friendship. It wasn’t the first time she’d found her gaze drawn to the pair or noticed herself fixating on the jovial, animated way in which they interacted. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have a sibling or even a friend that was like family.

Her brows furrowed as she trailed their progress with her eyes. At least she was finally able to look at Bellamy without inwardly cringing from the memory of their incident by the lake. She hadn’t told anyone about it. Back at Durmstrang, Clarke and her friends would have had a good laugh, but she couldn’t talk to anyone here. She liked them all well enough, but trusting someone held a whole different spectrum of difficulties. She kept imagining them laughing _at_ her instead of _with_ her or telling other people when she left the room.

Doubtlessly, Clarke would have forgotten all about her intoxicated embarrassment by now if it wasn’t for Bellamy Blake. He kept staring at her, like he was trying to figure her out. _Good luck._ She couldn’t even figure herself out half the time. Avoiding talking to him was becoming increasingly more difficult with all the classes they shared; however, Clarke was nothing if not stubbornly tenacious. Unfortunately, Bellamy seemed to have that trait as well.

Clarke let out a deep sigh of relief when the Gryffindors skirted around the horde of Slytherins, giving them a wide berth. Clarke turned around and realized that she wasn’t the only person watching the two leave. Anya had her sharp eyes trained on the retreating figures, a look of repressed frustration maring her pretty face. The expression fled quickly when she noticed Clarke was watching her; it was replaced by a look of blatant annoyance at being caught.

“Sorry,” Clarke muttered, knowing how unhappy she would be if someone observed her in a private moment.

“It’s fine,” Anya shrugged, her face returning to its normal neutral. They continued walking towards the pitch with the other Slytherins. “Some people can be so…” Anya made an explosive gesture with her hands. The girl was obviously not happy.

“Yeah,” Clarke replied, despite the fact that she had no idea what Anya was talking about. She assumed it was about Bellamy’s friend, Lexa, since her and Anya were dating.

“I used to find her and Bellamy’s shenanigans endearing, but now... “ Anya shook her head, “and she never gets in trouble. Someone else always gets blamed. She’s like that, you know, it’s _never_ her fault. I ask for more time together and suddenly I’m ‘demanding’… sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.” Anya laughed nervously, obviously uncomfortable with how much she shared.  

“I’m sure you two will figure it out,” Clarke said reassuringly because it sounded like something Anya would want to hear. How could she know if they would work things out? She barely knew either of them. She hadn’t even spoken two words to Lexa.

Clarke hung back when they reached the locker rooms, not quite ready to coexist with the crowded mess of bodies that waited inside.

“You coming?” Emori punched Clarke lightly in the shoulder as she passed the blonde.

Clarke nodded, “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

“Sure,” Emori shrugged, “Whatever floats your boat, Griffin.”   

Clarke gave the girl a half smile and waited until she was alone outside to lean against the wooden wall. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fly… not when her dad was…. Clarke shook her head, trying to return to the calm state of indifference that served her so well, but her efforts were futile. The broom in her hand seared like hot iron against her skin, and as much as she wanted to drop the wretched thing, she couldn’t bring herself to let go. Instead she gripped the handle tighter, focusing on the feeling of wood against her skin rather than the memories that were trying to claw their way out of some deep pit in her soul. Her father had given her this broom only a few months before his death, but it was more than that… The earlier memories forced their way to the surface, reminding Clarke of all the times her father had escaped work to teach his little girl how to fly.

Voices broke through Clarke’s reverie as a herd of Ravenclaws marched around the corner. Clarke bent down quickly, pretending to tie up her shoelaces so no one would see the shimmer in her eyes. Her worry was moot though, because an argument started up inside and drew everyone’s attention. Clarke could hear Anya and the Ravenclaw Captain fighting about whose team had signed up for the current time slot. The already occupied locker room quickly reached capacity and the rest of the Ravenclaws shuffled about the lawn while waiting on the verdict from inside. And like that, whatever peace Clarke had been hoping to find outside was lost.

Standing up again, Clarke spotted a familiar face in the crowd that made her gut clench painfully. Raven was standing only a few feet away, talking to a tall, thin boy. She’d obviously already seen the girl in a few of her classes, but Clarke had tried her best to fade into the background as much as possible. She barely spoke in those classes, hoping to prolong the inevitable confrontation. She had already imagined ten times over all the horrible things Raven would yell at her when she finally realized who Clarke was. Just thinking about it made her want to shrivel up into a tiny ball and roll away from this hazard zone.

The boy whispered something to Raven and the girl turned around, catching Clarke’s eyes. _Shit._

“Can I help you?” Raven asked, her tone agitated. Clarke shook her head, looking away; her throat felt as if it might burst into flames if she spoke. The Ravenclaw Captain emerged from the tent saving Clarke and informing the loitering crowd that they would have tryouts tomorrow.

“Clarke?” Emori poked her head out of the locker room, “You coming?” Clarke felt like a bucket of ice had been dropped over her body. She stole a glance back at Raven and saw with dread that painful realization was dawning on the girl’s face. Clarke’s claustrophobia suddenly felt completely irrelevant; she made a snap decision and escaped into the safety of the locker room.

Raven stared at the spot of grass where Clarke had stood only a moment ago, feeling like she had just been punched in the stomach. _It couldn’t be._ Finn would have told her. He would have warned her, it was the least he could do. _It’s her._ Raven knew it, there was no doubt in her mind. The way Clarke had stared at her, the look in her eyes, it all made sense.

“Hey,” Jasper grabbed her arm. “Are you ok? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, brushing him off.  

“Raven, you just turned white as a sheet.” He was looking at her like she was about to pass out.

“I said, I’m fine.” She took off, stalking towards the castle. Her brain felt like one of those old, muggle televisions she always tinkered with, fuzzy and filled with those crawling black and white ants. There were too many thoughts in her head and they pinballed against her skull like a cacophony of noises, indistinguishable in their sheer abundance. She felt rather than saw Jasper catch up to her, but he didn’t say a word, silently keeping pace with her footsteps.

An eternity passed before they reached the door to the Ravenclaw common room. Jasper answered the knocker’s riddle and they walked into the warm hearth room. Raven sat down on the edge of a chair by the fire and Jasper took up residence on the ground facing her, his back against the warm flagstones. Mercifully, he stayed silent.

When her mind finally settled down enough to parse out individual thoughts, Raven realized she felt numb. All of the anger and the sadness she’d felt over the past month had given way to something entirely different. She was tired, so tired of feeling consumed by rage or by hurt. She was tired of feeling out of balance, out of control in own life. She took a deep breath, finally looking up at Jasper, whose amber eyes were trained steadily on her. He hadn’t uttered a word and Raven knew how hard that was for him.

“I’m ok, really,” she assured him, leaning back against the plush chair.

He raised his eyebrows dubiously at her, “Will you at least tell me what happened? You haven’t spoken for an hour.”

Raven closed her eyes, considering whether she wanted to speak this truth out loud. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but holding it in couldn’t prevent it from being any more real than it already was. She opened her eyes and nodded, looking into the fireplace where the flames lapped happily against the stone.

“Finn and I broke up,” she started, pausing to maul the words over. _Finn and I broke up._

“I figured as much since you won’t talk to him anymore,” Jasper blurted out, his long silence obviously having taxed him. Raven gave him a withering stare and he quieted, letting her tell her story.

“Finn and I broke up,” she repeated, then corrected herself, “I ended things with him after I found out he’d been cheating on me for nearly two months.” Once she opened the floodgates, the whole lake poured out. Raven told Jasper everything: how she found out, how betrayed she felt, how the girl they had just seen was the same girl who she had tried to picture countless times over the past month. She didn’t cry when she told him all this, she didn’t even feel like crying. She had cried enough already. That part was done.

Raven finished, “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him. Not because he wanted to be with someone else, I could have accepted that. I can’t forgive him for lying to me for months… for telling me he loved me when he was sleeping with her.” Raven’s hands shook slightly at this admission and she balled them up, quickly. She hadn’t even admitted to herself that what she and Finn had shared was broken, forever.

She smiled at Jasper with as little bitterness as she could muster. “It’ll be for the best, I know it. I just can’t see _how_ right now.”

“You’re _strong_ , Raven. I don’t know how you do it,” Jasper swallowed, shaking his head. His eyes looked a little moist, but there was also anger in them, anger on her behalf. He didn’t understand that she had already been angry enough for the both of them.

Raven smiled wryly, “You’re stronger than you know, Jasper.”

Jasper got to his feet and offered her a hand, “Let’s go work on that Potions report. Nothing cheers you up as much as homework.”

Raven took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Ok, but that means we’re going to the library.”

“The library?” Jasper gasped exaggeratedly, “Oh, no! I’m melting! You’ve said the exact word that destroys me!”   

Raven stared at him evenly as he pretended to crumple up on the floor. When she didn’t concede, he sprung back up quickly. “Fine, you win. Dusty old tomes here we come!”

He hooked his arm through hers and the two friends left the common room arm in arm, their spirits much brighter than when they had entered.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this last chapter! If you do want to follow me on Tumblr, I regularly post aesthetics for the houses and for individual characters as well as notifications when this story gets updated. You can find me [ here ](https://thefutureunseen.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Until next time <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly update coming your way! This one is a whopper of a chapter, checking in around 7000 words. Wow! 
> 
> There’s a steamy make-out scene later, but nothing too mature yet. I’ll do my best to have warnings before anything that might be explicit either sexually, emotionally, or physically. That will apply to sex as well as any disturbing images or violence. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter!

Chapter Five:   
_**Hello, Goodbye** _

* * *

 Could tell you what you wanna hear  
Cause the truth is always in the way  
I never wanna live in fear  
I don't wanna hold back all the things I need to say

I got you figured out, you need to have control  
You think that I don't know you, I know you, I know   
Trying to tell you now, I've been doing what you want   
But I won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore   
Just let me go, just let me go   
Won't be your yes girl, no, not anymore   
**Yes Girl - Bea Miller**

* * *

Clarke stared at the clock on the wall, watching the minute hand’s painfully slow rotation. _10:35._ She had been in her mother’s quarters for an hour now, one hour longer than she had intended to be there. After two weeks of blissful avoidance, Abby had insisted that the two have breakfast together. They couldn’t do that in the Great Hall so the Head of Ravenclaw House had managed to trap Clarke inside her office suite. The young girl might as well have been caught in a snare for how comfortable she felt. Clarke would have been more than happy to keep ignoring Abby for the rest of the year. _Way to ruin a good thing_ , she thought bitterly.

The older woman cleared her throat audibly, calling Clarke’s attention back to the table. She glanced down at the plate of food in front of her, which lay barely touched. Picking up her fork, Clarke pushed a few potatoes around experimentally.

“Are any of those going to go in your mouth?” Abby asked stiffly. They hadn’t spoken since the compulsory greeting forty minutes ago. In fact, Abby had found numerous little tasks that ‘needed her attention’ while Clarke sat in silence, waiting for their breakfast to arrive. _Typical._ Clarke raised her eyebrows, meeting Abby’s sharp hazel eyes with her own cold, blue irises. She put a single potato in her mouth and chewed it slowly.

“Do you plan on speaking any time soon?” The older woman put her fork down and sighed at Clarke’s defiance, leaning back in her chair to give her daughter an expectant look.

“What would you like me to say?” Clarke asked, feigning ignorance.  

“Cut it out, Clarke,” Abby snapped. “I invited you here so we could get to know each other. That’s never going to happen if you keep giving me lip or freezing me out.”

Clarke snorted and glanced back at the clock on the wall. _This is never going to end._ She laughed derisively at the situation and watched as Abby’s face turned a rather magnificent shade of red.

“What?” the older asked sharply, her teeth grinding in an effort to remain calm. Clarke’s laughter died abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke forced herself to shrug indifferently; an action that was in direct conflict with the anger living inside of her. “You’re just mistaking me for someone who cares. That ship sailed twelve years ago when I realized you abandoned us.” She pinned Abby with her chilling gaze. _You’re insane if you think we have any semblance of a relationship._

“Clarke, I loved your father very much. I don’t know what Jake told you, but--” The delicate lid that held back years of repressed anger blew right off. Clarke stood, sending her chair flying back.

“Don’t say his name! Don’t talk about him like you cared. He’s _dead_ and you weren’t there!” She glared at Abby, her voice shaking slightly, “You weren’t there for my birthdays, or when I broke both legs climbing a tree, or my first year at school, or my first kiss… _You weren’t there_.”

Abby’s eyes widened, stunned. “I can imagine that my absence hurt you a lot--”

“Look,” Clarke spoke dismissively. “You’re not my mother. Let’s not pretend otherwise, okay?” She wanted to hurt Abby, to make her feel even a fragment of the pain Clarke had buried deep inside of herself.

Abby stood up and put her hands on the table, facing off with Clarke. “I _am_ your mother and no amount of naive, teenage resentment on your part can change that!” _Teenage resentment? Seriously? Condescending bitch._

“You don’t get it. I am _not_ your daughter. I haven’t been for twelve years. I’m Jake Griffin’s daughter. _We_ are _not_ family… so don’t treat me like it. No favoritism. I’m just another student. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Got it?” Clarke didn’t wait for a response. Instead she slung her school bag over her shoulder and marched out of the room, prying herself free of whatever trap Abby had set. The woman’s ignorance was unbelievable. Did she really think that after a decade of estrangement she could just waltz back into Clarke’s life like nothing had happened? _Sure, I’m still three years old,_ Clarke thought sarcastically. _Throw all your parenting bullshit at me as if I won’t say anything._  

Clarke didn’t know where she was going and she didn’t really care at the moment, letting her feet take her down the maze of stairs and away from the seventh floor. Hot frustration boiled up inside of her until it felt like steam might pour from her ears just to release the pressure. _How dare she?_ Clarke grimaced. Her mind would not leave behind Abby’s presumptuous attitude despite the physical distance she put between them. Clarke had even gone to her stupid breakfast, which was more than that woman deserved.

THWACK! Clarke groaned as she ran into something very solid. It let out a soft grunt on impact and Clarke felt herself pitching backwards. Two arms wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her. Instinctively, she whipped out her wand, pointing it straight at the person holding her.

“Don’t touch me,” Clarke hissed, twisting the point of her wand into the distinctively male chest. The arms around her released immediately. Stepping back, she came face to face with none other than Bellamy Blake. _Seriously? Now?_ It seemed that avoiding people was not a viable solution anymore.

“Hey, hey!” Bellamy held up his hands, her wand still digging into him. “I was just trying to help! No need to get all feisty.”

Clarke lowered her wand, “I’m not feisty. You just… surprised me, is all.”

“I surprised you? How so?” Bellamy leaned back, rubbing his chest where she had stuck him and grinning foolishly. Sirens started going off in her head as Clarke flashed back to their lakeside encounter and her mortifying word vomit. _Get out while you can, Griffin._

“I’m not in the mood for this.” Clarke heeded her rational mind and moved to brush past him.

“Wait!” Bellamy stepped in front of her, blocking her progress. “This is the first time I’ve gotten you to talk to me all week… Don’t run away so fast.”

“Why are you always trying to talk to me? It's annoying,” Clarke snapped, crossing her arms. The animal of rage inside her was still roaming around freely and Bellamy was about to receive the brunt of her attack. _Run away while you can,_ her mind tried to warn him.

His smile fell. “Wow. Okay. I’m sorry, I guess?” She could tell she had hurt him.

“Look,” she said matter-of-factly, “last time we talked, I was pretty drunk. I’m not usually that nice. Don’t waste your time.”

“ _That_ was nice?” Bellamy laughed roughly, “You need to work on your people skills.”

“Then why are you still here?” Clarke demanded.

“I don’t know!” he snapped. “I’m leaving.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Clarke?” The two looked up to see who would intrude on their argument. Finn Collins reached the third floor landing where Clarke and Bellamy stood and walked steadily towards them. _Are you fucking kidding me? Screw you, universe._ As if things couldn’t get any worse. Clarke took a deep breath and then turned towards Finn.

“I’m in a _colossally_ bad mood. If you try to talk to me right now, I swear to god I will hex off your balls, Finn. I’m not kidding,” Clarke stated, coldly. She saw Bellamy’s eyes widen out of the corner of her own. _I told you._

“Come on,” Finn tilted his head, giving her a look that a month ago would have made her melt. Today it just shattered any fragile restraint she had left. “Let’s take a walk together. Like we used to. It’ll make you feel better.”

Clarke gripped her wand tighter, feeling her knuckles lose blood flow. She was so mad, so _fucking_ mad. If she opened her mouth right now, she knew the only thing that would come out would be a highly illegal spell. Her hands began to shake.

Bellamy stepped forward, putting a hand on Finn’s chest, “The lady said go away, Collins.”

“Don’t touch me, Blake,” Finn growled, his eyes narrowing. Clarke looked up at the ceiling, trying quell her rage and recapture control of her emotions. It worked, more or less.

“Bellamy, back off,” she said, levelly. “You’re making this worse.” The Gryffindor turned around, surprised at hearing his name. There was a split second of clarity before any line had been crossed. Then everything went to shit.

A fourth figure materialized from nowhere; Clarke had no idea who he was, but the newcomer obviously was acquainted with Finn because he greeted him with a solid right hook.

“That’s for Raven, you piece of shit!” the Ravenclaw boy shouted at Finn who was now sprawled on the floor. Hearing Raven’s name had the same effect as three thousand tons of Niagara Falls extinguishing the fire of Clarke’s rage; she felt instantly cold.  

“Jasper! What the fuck, man?” Bellamy stepped between the two, trying to catch Jasper’s crazed eyes. Clarke watched in stunned horror as Finn launched himself at Jasper from the floor, propelling the two of them in the opposite direction. Bellamy tried to pry Finn off of Jasper, but only managed to get an elbow to the face as a reward. Then it was simply a tussle of flailing limbs marked by sickening, bone-crunching punches. Clarke opened her mouth, but nothing came out. _What the fuck is happening?_ It was like she had entered the Twilight Zone.

Suddenly all three boys flew apart, each standing rod-iron straight five feet apart from each other. Clarke’s heart sank as Abby marched down the stairs, wand pointed straight ahead, keeping each boy in place.

“What is the meaning of this?” the older woman barked sharply at the four students in front of her. When all of the boys remained silent, Abby looked at Clarke expectantly; her face hardened quickly at her daughter’s noncommittal shrug. For Clarke’s part, she really didn’t know how to answer that question. For once, she wasn’t trying to be facetious.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, _and_ Ravenclaw. Really, Mr. Jordan, I am extraordinarily displeased with you. All four of you will serve detention next Saturday at one o’clock sharp.”

“Are you kidding me? I wasn’t even fighting!” Clarke asked in disbelief.

Abby smiled tightly at her, “You said ‘no favoritism.’ That’s what this looks like.”

Clarke felt like she had been slapped in the face. _Fine._

“Jordan, come with me,” the professor commanded. “Collins and Blake, report to the Hospital Wing before your next class. Honestly…” Abby strode away, pulling Jasper in her wake.

“Don’t,” Clarke put her hand up as Finn and Bellamy stepped towards her. “Thanks a lot,” she hissed and shot daggers at both of them before storming away.

“Happy to help,” Bellamy retorted, rolling his eyes at her retreating figure. How was this his fault? The girl was a hot mess. At first he had thought her intriguing, but now… now he didn’t know what to make of her. She was as hostile as a Hungarian Horntail, all spikes and claws; she definitely wasn’t lacking fire either. God, she was infuriating. He was just trying to be nice to her and she acted like he was the fucking plague. _That’s not all you were trying to be…_ A small voice in the back of Bellamy’s head reminded him. _Shut. Up._ He mentally berated himself.

Sure he found her attractive; she had an unimposed elegance about her that was endearing… at least that’s what he had thought. Now, Bellamy realized that it was less elegance and more of an inane superiority complex that she kept on a tight leash until she opened her mouth. _Jesus._ To think that he had been fawning over her for the past two weeks!

Bellamy realized he was still standing, staring in the direction she had disappeared. Mercifully, he was alone; Collins had slinked off while Bellamy was distracted. He shook his head clear of Clarke, determined to rid himself of this absurd fancy. Turning around swiftly, he walked in the exact opposite direction she had taken. Clarke was like sandpaper on an open wound… But despite his best efforts, Bellamy’s mind kept returning to the lake, to her adorable, flustered demeanor, and to her reddened, sun-burnt face that had looked so open and vulnerable compared to what he had just witnessed. It was like there were two different Clarke Griffins attending this school and, honestly, he didn’t have a grip on either one of them.

_Wake up, man,_ he told himself sternly, _You’ve known her for all of two seconds. There aren’t two different people, there’s just her: Clarke. She said she was drunk so that’s that. She’s just a spoiled, rich kid like most of the other Slytherins. Nothing special_ … _So stop thinking about her… Now!_

Bellamy froze in the middle of the corridor, testing if he was free. He smiled smugly, there were plenty of other things for him to think about like: Quidditch practice, Octavia’s love life, his and Lexa’s next prank, the Potions essay due next week, Clarke-- _Damn it,_ he groaned, turning to pound his head against the wall in desperation.

“Bell?” Octavia’s voice reached him and he straightened immediately, “What are you doing?”

“You know… just… stuff,” Bellamy supplied lamely, shrugging his shoulders. He hissed, clutching his left shoulder as sharp pain ripped through his joint. Octavia was at his side in seconds. He howled as Octavia grasped his arm firmly in her hands, examining it. She looked up at him and then stepped back, upon seeing face.

“Jesus, Bellamy,” Octavia reprimanded. “What did you do? Get into a fist fight?”

He shrugged again, avoiding her eyes. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” she laughed without humor. “You have a seriously nasty black eye forming.”

“I got elbowed in the face. I’m fine.” He brushed her hands away.  

“And you thought hitting your head against the wall would make it better? It’ll _definitely_ make you dumber.”

He made a face, “I forgot, OK?”

“You… forgot?” She repeated, nonplussed and then poked him in the shoulder, eliciting a sharp yelp, “What were you thinking about that made you forget _this_?”

Bellamy felt his face go red and he back-peddled, “Nothing. Thanks for the ‘support,’ O.”

“You better be heading to the Hospital Wing,” she shouted after him. “Despite what you may think that black eye will _not_ make you look ‘sexier.’” Bellamy flipped her off and kept walking.

Octavia rolled her eyes and watched him leave. He acted so strong and cavalier most of the time, but he really was such a sensitive person. Not many people knew that, except Octavia. She thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t inherited the same amount of sensitivity as Bellamy. What flaws she had inherited though, she was definitely not as good at hiding. Again, ‘subtlety’ was not Octavia’s middle name.

Speaking of which… Octavia looked down, smoothing out any wrinkles in her uniform. She had taken extra care with her appearance today because she was about to start phase one of her master plan. _Project Seduction_ Raven had jokingly called it when Octavia divulged her grand scheme. Waiting until her brother was totally out of sight, the younger Blake took off towards the library, a small spring in her step.

The lower level of the library was mostly empty; Octavia found the quiet stillness of the place more eerie than calming. A room full of books was not exactly her first choice. She favored practical, hands-on learning rather than excessive reading. She wrinkled her nose distastefully as a ray of sunlight through a high window illuminated a column of dust. As quickly as it was exposed, the light vanished as Madam Tsing hurriedly closed the curtains. _Not the precious books! Whatever would we do?_ Octavia thought in mock distress, chuckling slightly at the look of alarm that seemed to be permanently frozen onto the librarian’s stern face. Looking after sedentary objects like books should be a totally stress-free job. _Madam Tsing doesn’t seem to think so._ An image of the librarian running after a particularly rambunctious title pasted itself into Octavia’s mind and she had to stifle the laugh which threatened to erupt.  

Away from the main entrance, the library turned into a dense maze of stacks, broken irregularly by desks shoved into small nooks where students could study undisturbed. Octavia wove between the shelves of books which towered high overhead, making sure to check each alcove for Lincoln. She finally found her gorgeous tutor at a table tucked into the far corner. His head was bent over an old, fraying book which lay open on the table in front of him. Octavia smiled, leaning against the nearest stack and taking a moment to appreciate the contradiction of his face, which was simultaneously strong and gentle. She cleared her throat loudly, pulling his attention away from the literature.

“Good, you’re here,” was all Lincoln said, before turning back to his studies. Octavia harrumphed, mildly annoyed.

“This place is _great_ ,” she said sarcastically as she took a seat next to him. “It’s super easy to find.” Lincoln looked at her, saying nothing. Why was he so damn serious?

“So we should get started,” he said and launched in without waiting for a response. “I’m assuming you know the three main categories of potions?” _So no foreplay then… interesting._

She shrugged nonchalantly, “Of course. Some potions are bad for you, some are good for you, and some are neutral or something like that.”

“That’s… great, but I was asking for a more academic answer.”

“Sure, chief.” Octavia smiled sweetly, “Potions kill you, heal you, or change you.”

“That’s correct, but,” Lincoln sighed, shaking his head in frustration, “if you want full marks on your O.W.L. you will have to give the latin names: _occidere, sanare, mutare_ . Now the most common _sanare_ potions are the antidotes to common and uncommon poisons. Another common _sanare_ is the blood-replenishing potion that Professor Griffin had you make earlier this week.”

Octavia’s smiled sheepishly, “Oops.”

Lincoln gave her another one of his stern looks. “You’re going to have to make something of similar caliber on the practical for your Potions O.W.L.” When Octavia didn’t answer he continued, “Can you think of some _occidere_ potions?”

“The Drink of Despair?”

“Good. What about an _mutare_ potion?”

“Polyjuice.”

“A classic example. Good to see you were listening in some of your classes,” Lincoln joked lightly, giving her a small smile.

Octavia took the bait and ran with it, “So, are we done? Can we talk about something more interesting? Like you?”

Lincoln frowned. “You do realize the stuff we just went over is only first year material?”

Octavia ignored him, leaning back in her chair and fixing him with her steely green eyes. “When did you first discover you have such a _passion_ for potions?”

“Potions has always just come easily to me. Besides, I want to be a healer,” Lincoln said evenly, indulging her and ignoring the innuendo; however, when Octavia received an inch, she always took a mile.

“Ah, the healing arts,” she smiled coyly. “Also known as ‘the laying of hands.’ What else do you like to _lay hands on_ Lincoln?”

“Octavia,” Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose. It would have been cute if he wasn’t obviously exasperated with her. _Ah, who am I kidding? It’s still damn cute._ “If you can’t focus on our lesson, this won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you mean… I was just trying to be conversational.” She opened her eyes wide in surprise. He shook his head and turned back to the book in front of him.

“So,” he flipped to the next page, “what are the three most common ingredients used in _sanare_ potions?”

Octavia groaned, dropping her head on the table. She twisted to look up at him over the curve of her right arm, “Can we just take a tiny break?”

“You are the most poorly behaved student I’ve ever met,” he said, but there was a lightness to his voice which counterbalanced his rather valid criticism.

“Who made you a Professor?’ Octavia retorted. “You do realize you’re still a student, right? You don’t want to get too far ahead of yourself, _Professor_. Most girls aren’t interested in dating a silver fox.”

Lincoln gave her a scathing look and snapped the book shut, standing up from the corner desk. He whispered heatedly, his frustration no longer contained, “If you’re not going to take this seriously--” _Too far, Octavia. Too far._

“Look,” she grabbed his arm, effectively stilling him, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just not good at Potions. I can’t learn anything that doesn’t have a wand motion attached to it. I don’t know why...” Lincoln looked down at his forearm where her hands still rested. Octavia blushed and drew her arms into herself. She admitted grudgingly, “I hate _failing_ …”

He sighed. “Everyone hates failing, Octavia. That makes you human, but you should’ve told someone that motion makes it easier for you to learn. That just means you’re a kinesthetic learner. There is nothing wrong with you.”

Octavia swallowed when she saw the sincerity in his dark brown eyes, “So what do we do?”

“Well,” Lincoln paused, thinking, “we could attach hand movements to different aspects of potions to help you remember. Also when you’re trying to memorize stuff, it might help if you walked around at the same time.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Family friend who is a muggle school teacher,” Lincoln shrugged, relaxing back down into his chair. _Hmmm, looks like changing tactics might be more productive._  

“It’s worth a shot.” Octavia said, earnestly. _He wants me to be a good little student. I’ll be the best damn student he’s ever seen._

For the next hour Lincoln came up with hand gestures for different important vocabulary words and concepts in Potions. Octavia tried her best not to make jokes or flirt, but it was increasingly difficult. She was so attracted to him. The only thing stopping her was her sheer determination; she listened to every word he said, trying to soak up as much information as possible.

When fifth period was over, Lincoln left for his next class. Octavia peeked out from the mountain of material he’d assigned her to read before their next session. Making the executive decision to skip the rest of her classes, she let out a heavy sigh and picked up the first scroll titled ‘ _The Many Uses of Wolfsbane (Also Known as Aconite and Monkshood)_.’ The minutes became hours as Octavia poured over the different literature, furiously scribbling notes on anything that seemed important. She learned that there were two hundred and fifty different species of aconitum, but the most commonly used in potions was wolfsbane. As she wrote down various tidbits of information, Octavia remembered to make hand movements to go along with the material.

Every so often she took a lap around the library, reading over the notes she had already written. Octavia could now list twelve different side effects of the Pepperup Potion, accurately describe the differences in _sanare_ , _occidere_ , and _mutare_ potions, as well as recite all the ingredients necessary to make Polyjuice. The last was only partially useful as she had no idea how to brew the ingredients properly. Still, when the sconces on the wall began to brighten, indicating the final retreat of the sun, Octavia had barely made a dent in the enormous pile stacked upon the desk. Her brain felt ready to burst it was so full of new information.

_At least I have the weekend to finish this reading_ , Octavia reminded herself, but that thought only made her realize that there was an entire weekend standing between her and Lincoln. Resigning herself to that fact, she wrote down the names of the remaining reading material; there was no doubt that Madam Tsing would pounce on the table of books the minute Octavia left the library. She stuffed a few of the lighter books in her bag and, not bothering to check them out, Octavia turned her back on the dusty archives.

The atmosphere was immediately improved once she emerged into the brightly lit corridor of the third floor. It was like being reborn. The minute she breathed the fresh air, free from the cloying smell of crumbling old pages, her stomach protested sharply. God, she was ravenous. The walk down to the Great Hall felt like a hundred miles, each step her stomach cramping in protest. She burst through the doors of the hall like a freight train, ready to bowl over anyone who got between her and the food.

By the looks of it, Octavia was at least a few minutes late for dinner; the tables were nearly full and only a few seats stared vacantly at her. She walked quickly over to the Gryffindor table, sliding in between Miller and Bellamy, thankful Lexa was on the other side of the table. She was too hungry to spar right now.  

“Where’s the food?” Octavia moaned, dropping her bag and laying her head dramatically on the bare table. “I could eat a freaking cow, right now.”

Lexa looked down at her, “Jaha still hasn’t given the pre-dinner announcements.”

“Watch this!” Miller nudged her; after glancing up and down the table to make sure no one was watching, he banged four times on her plate with the dull end of a knife. Nothing happened.

Octavia looked at him skeptically, “Thanks, Miller, but I think I’ll wait for the next course.”

“No, wait!” Miller shushed her and they both stared at the spot on the table where he had pounded.

“Impressive magic, man,” Bellamy said over Octavia’s shoulder, barely keeping the smile off his face.

“It will work, I swear!” A moment later her plate filled with an assortment of small, meat and vegetable pies.

“Oh, thank god,” Octavia mumbled her appreciation, before falling on the pile of morsels, wolfing down two pies in under a minute. It took the edge off, so she decided to share, throwing a pie to Miller, Bellamy, and Lexa.

Lexa snatched her pie out of the air with catlike reflexes, but then passed the appetizer off to a grateful Bellamy. She looked over to see that Octavia was staring at her as if she had just committed a crime.

“Not hungry?” the younger girl asked with hollow concern. Lexa appraised Octavia.

“I’m saving my appetite,” the older girl shrugged, not offering any more details.

“Hot date?” Bellamy asked, finishing off his second pie. Lexa fought down the rare flush that threatened to overwhelm her face. _Thanks, Bell._

“Yep,” she bobbed her head, keeping her eyes focused on her best friend, “I’m having dinner with Anya.”

He smiled, “Good for you.”

A soft laugh caught Lexa’s attention, drawing her eyes back to the younger Blake who was deep in conversation with Miller. Octavia nudged him playfully and whispered something in the boy’s ear. _Ridiculous._ Everyone knew Miller was gay; he had a boyfriend for crying out loud. Not that that had stopped Octavia in the past. _Octavia would flirt with a freaking tree._ She shook her head in disbelief, but before she could look away a pair of evergreen eyes caught her; there was always an unspoken challenge between them.

The table erupted with food, breaking the previous tension with an array of roast meats, savory pies, steamed vegetables, and various drinks. The buzz of conversation immediately died down as everyone’s attention was directed towards eating. Thankful for the distraction, Lexa took her magically enhanced hamper and began to wrap certain items and place them inside.

“... did you go to the Hospital Wing? ” The tail end of Octavia’s hushed question reached Lexa’s ears. Bellamy made a shushing gesture at his sister that did not go unnoticed. _No way._ Lexa stopped packing her bag.

She narrowed her eyes at the pair of siblings, “What is she talking about?”

“Nothing.” The little shrug Bellamy gave lacked conviction.

“He got into a fist fight,” Octavia supplied, giving her brother a satisfied smirk, which he returned with a grimace of his own.

“What the fuck?” Lexa’s face held intense disapproval for a heartbeat, before it split into a wide grin. “Without me? I thought we talked about that… you’re no good on your own!”

Bellamy rolled his eyes at her cocksure attitude, “Tommy Borlen might say differently.”  

“Tommy Borlen? If you’re referring to that fight on the playground, it was my punch that took Tommy down.”

“No way,” Bellamy eyes widened in disbelief. “That was totally my win. You were halfway across the playground when he went down!”    

“You mean my fist was halfway down Tommy’s throat,” Lexa corrected, unblinking.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Miller began to chant quietly from the other side of Octavia. Lexa looked at Bellamy, her grin mirroring his own. The plates of food in front of them were pushed hurriedly out of the way, and the competitors clasped their right hands together, elbows down and placed their left hands behind their backs. Miller waved a napkin in front of their faces and counted down from ten, before whipping the white material out of the way with a flourish.

Lexa’s muscles went taut as she resisted the strong push of Bellamy’s arm against her own. She held his gaze, green clashing with brown in a battle as tense as the one engaging their arms. He tried to fake her out, letting his arm slacken for a moment before returning with double the force, but this was an old trick of his that Lexa had learned long ago. She held her arm steady, breathing through the strain. She just had to hold him long enough so that he would make a mistake. Lexa was stealthy and calculating; she could win any battle that she set her mind to, given enough time to strategize. Bellamy was all heart, putting everything he had into the first wave of assault, holding nothing back. If he could overpower her in the first minute, the battle was his for the taking, but if not…  

Both their hands began to shake, but Lexa focused on her breathing, her eyes never leaving Bellamy’s. She grinned, sensing her triumph fast approaching. Suddenly, she felt his entire arm twitch; she barely had time to slam it down onto the table before it was ripped from her grasp. Bellamy convulsed and shied away, his face turning a fluorescent shade of pink as Octavia tickled him mercilessly.

“Stop! Not fair! O, stop!” Bellamy gasped out between laughs. Lexa shook her head, not sure whether she was more amused or annoyed. Octavia finally let up, grinning madly. Lexa laughed and the two girls shared a rare smile. It felt like old times.

“So… who won?” Miller asked, ever the pragmatist.

The two friends shared a look, “Octavia.”

“Haha, very funny,” the younger Blake brushed them off. “Lexa obviously had that one.” She grinned at Lexa as Bellamy pretended to look affronted. Lexa rolled her eyes at the pair and took a bite of a meat pie, its savory flavor exploding in her mouth. Octavia gave her strange look.

“What?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something… or someone?” Everyone’s attention was directed to the basket which still sat half-full on the bench next to Lexa.

“Shit,” she groaned, scrambling from the table. “Anya is going to kill me.”

“Run, Lex, Run!” Bellamy’s shout followed her, but she ignored the directive. No matter how late she was, there would be no running in the Great Hall. She had higher standards than that. Her hurried footsteps took her down the many stairs to the dungeons. She navigated the strikingly similar corridors until she came to a dead end. The stones morphed into a monstrous face that asked for the password.

“ _The serpent’s tongue,_ ” Lexa spoke the words Anya had told her earlier. The stones moved aside to form a large archway, leading into a long passage with a green light at the end.

She walked quickly through the door before its guardian had a chance to realize that she was not a Slytherin. This wasn’t the first time Lexa had been to their common room, but the austere coldness of the black stones and minimal furnishings always surprised her. There were antique lamps that dimly bathed the large room with a greenish light. The green hue that surrounded everything was only enhanced by the silk strewn ceiling, a striped array of chartreuse, forest, and evergreen. Every so often the shadow of a ripple would travel across the silks, the only indicator that the common room lay at the very bottom of the Great Lake.

The cool palette of the room was minimally warmed by the yellow glow of the fireplace, whose mantel was an intricate braid of many small serpents twisting to form one large snake. Lexa found Anya sitting on the dark leather couch, facing the dying fire. _Odd._ She thought the Hogwarts’ fires were supposed to be eternally burning or something like that.

“The house elves usually stoke the fires while the students are at dinner. I gave the last one quite a scare.” Anya murmured quietly, reading Lexa’s mind. She took a swig out of a bottle. The firelight illuminated the glass and revealed its near emptiness. Lexa walked around to the front of the couch, placing the basket on the ground. She knelt in front of Anya, but the older girl’s gaze remained fixed on the embers. “Were you with Bellamy?”

“You’re mad,” Lexa sighed. There was no need to ask; it was written all over Anya’s face.

“You’re late,” the older girl gave a bitter smile. “ _Again_.”

“Hey,” the Gryffindor placed her hand gently on her girlfriend’s knee. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“You’re always sorry, Lex,” Anya finally looked at Lexa, her champagne brown eyes shining. “Yet you’re still late.”

“What can I do?” She shifted forward on her knees until she was directly in front of Anya.

“ _Mean it._ ”

“I do-- _I will_ ,” Lexa reassured the girl in front of her, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Anya’s lips. She could tell the moment Anya decided to give in, because the tension in the girl’s body melted and she sighed faintly against Lexa’s lips.

Anya pulled away. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Lexa nodded, smiling wide, “Yes, it does.”

She kissed along the Slytherin’s delicate collar bone. The smell of jasmine from Anya’s favorite lotion clung to her golden skin. Lexa breathed in the heady aroma as she traced a line with her tongue along the inside of her girlfriend’s white oxford.

“Nope,” Anya gasped, shaking her head. But a smile crept slowly onto her angular face.

“Are you sure?” Lexa whispered in her ear, nuzzling against her slender neck. She sucked on the place behind Anya’s ear which she knew was the older girl’s weak spot; then in the next breath blew cold air against the tender skin. Anya threw her head back, letting out a sound that was as much a laugh as it was a groan.

“Fine.” The older girl grabbed Lexa’s face, fusing their mouths together in a heated kiss. Anya slid off the couch and knelt on the rug in front of Lexa. The Gryffindor smiled against her girlfriend’s mouth as relief poured through her. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to the Founders that she had managed to skirt past _that_ argument even for one more night. Lexa drew Anya against her until their bodies pressed together and nipped at her full lips. Anya kissed her back hungrily.

Lexa’s head began to spin; her hands searched for any bare skin she could find, slipping her fingers under Anya’s button-up. She had to consciously remind herself not to rip off the Slytherin’s clothes. They were in the common room after all, where anyone could walk in at a moment’s notice. And Lexa really didn’t want to be caught ass-naked, rutting in front of the fire… as delicious as that sounded. Her rational brain made one last stand; Lexa pulled back, breathing heavily.

She cleared her throat, trying to focus on the words, “I brought food if you’re hungry…”

Anya gave her a look that screamed ‘ _are you kidding me?’_ and said, “I’m starving, but I don’t want food anymore.”

“What if someone walks in?”

“Ok, so we keep our clothes on. When has that ever stopped you?”

Lexa smirked, “True.” An idea sparked in her head. _Oh, this is going to be fun._ She reached into the hamper and pulled out a bowl of strawberries that she had snagged from the Great Hall.

“Lay down,” she commanded. Anya followed her instructions perfectly and Lexa crawled forward to straddle the older girl. Pinching off the green stem, Lexa bit the fat end of the strawberry to hold the fruit firmly between her lips. She bent forward, placing her forearms on either side of Anya’s head and lowered the tip of the berry between the other girl’s lips. Red juice slid out of Anya’s mouth as they shared the fruit. Lexa kissed and licked the syrupy liquid off of her girlfriend’s face.

Sitting up, Lexa grinned down at the Slytherin, “I think the student has become the master.”

Anya followed her up, “Oh, babe, there is _so_ much more to learn.” Lexa felt arms wrap around her and suddenly Anya had them turned over with the Gryffindor pinned beneath her. Lexa laughed, her chest rising off the ground. She was definitely ready to learn.

On the other side of the castle, Raven paced in front of the Hospital Wing, unsure of whether to go inside. She had been outside the doors for more than an hour. She had even skipped dinner to do this, but her resolve had faltered just shy of her goal. There was nothing easy about this situation. After weeks of avoiding it, just the thought made her want to turn tail and run. _That’s not who you are, Reyes,_ she told herself firmly and pivoted to walk another lap past the bronze doors.

She turned to face them this time; her strained face looked back at her, muted in the dull surface. _One foot at a time._ Raven took a halting step, bringing herself closer. She took another one and then another and each one after that came easier like water breaking through an old dam. She pushed open the doors, without giving herself time to think about the alternative.

Finn looked up from the bed, spotting her almost as soon as she walked into the Hospital Wing. Her hand went instinctively to her chest where the silver crane necklace he had made still hung. She hadn’t been able to take it off yet, but then again, she hadn’t really tried. Raven continued counting her footsteps, each one bringing her closer to the boy she had loved so dearly. _Still love,_ her heart told her, but her mind fought against it. Raven sat down on the bed next to Finn, facing him for the first time by choice.

“Hey,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, because she didn’t know what else to say. Everything felt so wrong.

“A little sore, but I should be all better in the morning. Apparently cracked ribs take a little longer to heal,” he tried to laugh and then grimaced. “Professor Griffin won’t give me Skelo-Grow until right before bed. I guess it hurts less if you’re asleep.” He was rambling now. Raven nodded as he fell silent.

“I… I didn’t tell him -- Jasper… I didn’t tell Jasper to do that,” she breathed out, saying what she had come to say. “I just wanted you to know that… I _am_ sorry you’re hurt.”

“I know that, Raven,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “I know you better than anyone, remember?” Her heart clenched at his words.

“That used to be true,” she replied firmly, “but it’s not anymore.”

“Raven, please.” His voice was earnest, pleading. “I love you. I’ll always love you. I know we can fix this.” _I can’t listen to this right now,_ her eyes flew up the ceiling, searching for a shred of calm in the lofty rafters.

“You don’t want to have this conversation right now, Finn.” Raven ground her teeth, the remorse she had felt for his injury ebbing away as he reminded her of all the ways _she_ had been injured by him.

“Yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, I do. I want to talk--”

“About what Finn?” Raven exploded, her voice reverberating of the stone walls. The shrillness of it echoed painfully in her own ears. She took a breath and lowered her voice, “About what? Huh? About how you lied to me for two months? How you saw her and then came home to your parents? I live there, Finn! They’re my family too. _You_ were my family. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me. All I got was white sheet of paper with three fucking words written on it from a stranger I didn’t know.”

“If you had just stayed--”

“With you? With your parents? You may have been able to lie to them everyday, but I couldn’t.”

“Raven--”

“I know she’s here, Finn.”

Silence fell between them, growing louder and louder until the only part of the room it hadn't consumed was the flickering of the sconces on the wall. They hissed like jeering spectators. Finally Finn’s lips moved and noise penetrated the quiet.

“Let me explain.”

“No,” Raven refused, shaking her head. “There’s nothing to explain. I didn’t come here to talk, Finn. I just came to say that I’m sorry you’re hurt and now I’m not even sure that I am.”

His eyes were glassy and the pain there tugged on something in her own heart. Was he going to apologize? Raven’s heart thundered at the possibility. What would she say?

Finn fixed his gaze on her. “You not talking to me hurts more than any broken rib.”

“Don’t do that,” Raven snapped and even though her tone was sharp as steel, her throat constricted on disappointment. “Don’t make this about you. I can’t trust you anymore! I don’t know if we’ll _ever_ be able to talk the way we used to and I’m certainly not ready to try…  I need you to respect that.”

He was quiet for a moment and then nodded although it looked like it took great effort. They sat there in silence as the matron began to make her rounds. Raven stayed with him in that brimming silence until the candles were all snuffed out, until the room was bathed in darkness and all the things said and unsaid that still stood between them became suffocating. A murmured goodbye left her lips and it was almost as quiet as her retreating footsteps which faded like shadows into the vastness of the old castle.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Are you enjoying any of the characters in particular? Is there one that’s frustrating you more than the rest? One of my betas is a Ravenclaw and she just about died reading Octavia’s disregard for library etiquette. Your comments feed the beast and help me to write more <3 Until next time Xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Chapter six is here for you :) It’s another long one. I honestly think this fic is going to be novel length. OMG. I’m sorry. I wish my brain was more concise! Anyways, enjoy the latest installment <3 
> 
> **CW:** The section in italics is a dream sequence which contains potentially disturbing images and references to childhood trauma. If you feel like not reading it, you can check out the small summary in the author’s note at the end of this chapter.

Chapter 6:   
**_The Blackthorn_ **   


* * *

The storm is coming but I don't mind.   
People are dying, I close my blinds.   
All that I know is I'm breathing now.   
I want to change the world, instead I sleep.   
I want to believe in more than you and me.

But all that I know is I'm breathing.   
All I can do is keep breathing.   
All we can do is keep breathing   
**Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson**

* * *

_It was the sound of the faucet dripping that had first caught his attention. The methodic drip, drip, drip of the water against the metal basin echoed through the quiet stillness of the shabby apartment. Something was wrong. Something was missing, but he couldn’t remember what… He walked through the hallway in a daze, his arms slack by his sides. Dated wallpaper was peeling from the walls and the wooden doors were splintered at the bottom, worn from old age. The bag of meager supplies, bought by the monthly food stamps, lay forgotten next to the front door. He stared down at his well-worn shoes; they were so small. He lifted his hands, also small. This wasn’t right._

_Another sound greeted his ears, so soft he could barely distinguish it from the incessant drip, drip, dripping of the faucet. It was coming from the hall closet, a shaky whisper that repeated three words like a prayer, “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.”_

_His small hand pulled open the door, revealing a frail creature curled into the corner of the closet. “O?” his voice came out in a broken whisper. Moist green eyes peered up at him for a moment before his arms were filled by his younger sister. Her sickly form was wracked with sobs and coughs that were one and the same._

_“She told me to hide until he left. She said, ‘Don’t be afraid,’ but I was— I was— I’m so afraid, Bellamy. So much shouting…” her small voice drowned out into sobs and she buried her face in his neck. He was going to be sick. An unspeakable dread, too immense to understand, filled him._

_“Stay here, Octavia.” He pried himself free of his sister’s arms and rose, shakily, “Stay here.” His feet faltered as he walked slowly towards the kitchen, the drip, drip, drip of the faucet growing louder. He halted when he reached the door, his path impeded. He stared at the obstacle without comprehension. It was………… a hand…… attached to an arm that lay limp, all splotchy and purple. A hand, it was a hand. It was a hand, a hand, a hand… It was his mother’s hand._

_“Mom? Mom? Mom!” He tried to shout, to make any sort of noise that might call his mother back, but nothing came out. His voice was locked inside of his paralyzed body. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and his heart beat out of his chest. He_ **_needed_ ** _to make his voice work. He_ **_needed_ ** _to get help. He_ **_needed_ ** _to protect his sister. He_ **_needed_ ** _to save his mother. He could do all of this, if he could only make his voice leave his body._ **_“MOM!”_ **

Bellamy sat up in bed, a broken cry escaping his lips. Sweat beaded down his forehead; his shirt was soaked through and his heart was racing a mile a minute. He ran a hand through his damp hair and gasped as his body convulsed once, twice, and then fell still. Laying down again, he stared blankly at the canopy above his bed, his mind still far away. Slowly, the tension inside his chest subsided as his breathing evened, but his body remained rigid, fighting against the pull of sleep. He looked at his watch. It was 6:30 A.M.

Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He headed downstairs to the common room, afraid that if he dared to fall asleep again he would see _her_. Bellamy made a detour to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in an effort to bring himself back to reality. He looked down at his hands and feet, which were once more a normally large size for his ever growing body. His loose, flannel pants hung around his hips, patterned with small, gold and red stripes. His hair was sticking out in all different directions in desperate need of a comb, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His leaden feet, still clumsy from the early hour led the rest of his body downstairs.

Before Bellamy even entered the common room, he knew it wasn’t empty. Like a sixth sense he could feel the existing inhabitant’s presence. A small figure was sitting on the plushy couch, knees curled to her chest.

“Hey,” Bellamy greeted Lexa quietly as he sat down beside her.

“Hey stranger,” she gave him a wry smile before turning her attention back to the flames licking at the hearth. They sat in silence for what must have been half an hour, both watching the shadows dancing across the stone walls. Lexa finally stretched her arms overhead, yawning, and then turned to him, “Move over. I want to lay down.”

“We’re not going to fit unless we spoon,” Bellamy stated, laughing at the face Lexa gave him.

“Fine,” she said confidently, “but I’m the big spoon.” Lexa pushed him over and laid down against the back of the couch.

“We make an awful spoon,” Bellamy commented as he laid on his back facing the ceiling. “I’m much taller than you.”

“It’s not about height, Bellamy,” Lexa chuckled, shaking her head.

“Of course. You _must_ be right.” 

“I’m always right,” she propped her head up against the palm of her hand. “ _That_ is why I’m the big spoon.”

He rolled his eyes at her and they fell silent once more, listening to the crackle of the burning logs. The minutes merged together and the world darkened as Bellamy’s eyelids fell closed, but Lexa didn’t let him go back asleep. She knew better than that.

“Bad dream?” Lexa asked, watching as Bellamy’s eyes fluttered back open. He had a panicked look for a moment, before his whole body relaxed like he had just remembered _when_ and _where_ he was laying. He nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

“Your mom?” She posed her second question, although she already knew the answer. He nodded again. She turned to lay on her back beside him; they just barely fit side by side on the couch.

“You?” Bellamy glanced over at her, noticing the vacant look in her eyes. She blinked, nodding her answer. He continued, “Which one was it this time?”

“Costia and my foster family.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Lexa shook her head at first, but then spoke haltingly, “Being here… at Hogwarts… with all these _normal_ people… sometimes it’s easy to forget how _fucked up_ I am… and then, out of nowhere, it just hits me.”

Bellamy continued to stare at the ceiling. He knew that if he looked now, there would be tears in her eyes and Lexa wouldn’t want anyone, even him, to see them. She considered it a weakness, so he kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

When he spoke, he spoke from the heart, “You’re no more fucked up than I am, Lex. We didn’t choose our past and we can’t change it. I know what you mean though… forgetting only makes it twice as hard when you remember.”

She found his hand next to hers and squeezed it. She didn’t know how to express her feelings, but she needed him to know she was grateful they had each other. Growing up at the orphanage and living through that one tragic year with her foster family, Lexa had learned two things: one, the world is harsh and doesn’t give a shit about you, and two, very few people truly have your best interest at heart. Finding someone, like Bellamy, who had accepted her nuances and met them with those of his own, had been life-changing for her. They were so different; their insecurities and issues came from very disparate origins and yet they had become family. Growing up with Bellamy, Lexa had discovered the most important lesson of her life: family isn’t about blood, it’s about choosing someone to love unconditionally that will return that kind of acceptance ten-fold.

The two lay in silence for a while as Lexa tried to blink back the moisture in her eyes; she felt all of these things keenly, but the idea of expressing them, even to Bellamy, was suffocating. Instead, she let herself fall back into her comfort zone, changing the mood in the only way she knew how; without warning, she stretched out, shoving Bellamy off the couch in one motion.

“Hey!” He sat up from the ground and gave her a disapproving look.

“Oops!” Lexa replied, innocently. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Bellamy rubbed his side gingerly as he settled back onto the couch. Lexa waited for few minutes of silence to pass and then with cat-like speed made to push Bellamy off again, but this time he was ready and blocked her arm mid-swing. Lexa didn’t give up easily, but neither did Bellamy. He flipped onto his stomach, grasping the cushions of the couch for leverage to keep himself on. Changing tactics, Lexa wedged her back against the couch and used her feet to push against Bellamy’s side until he was hanging halfway off of the divan. With a defeated sigh, Bellamy let go, tumbling onto the ground. Lexa jumped up, crowing her success.

“Victory!” she shouted, opening her arms wide to receive the cheers from a fictitious audience. Without warning, Lexa felt her feet pulled out from underneath her and she fell flat on the couch. Bellamy laughed maniacally on the ground next to her, clutching his side. She shook her head and chuckled, breathless. God, they were a weird pair.

 The lamps around the common room flared to life and the ornate grandfather clock let out a lion's roar, indicating that the hour had reached eight o’clock in the morning. No one else would be waking up soon; it was a Saturday after all. Most people would want to sleep in as long as possible. _I wish I could,_ Lexa thought morosely. Unfortunately, like Bellamy, sleep was not her friend. When the distractions of the day faded away and her mind opened to that strange space between sleeping and waking, there were too many repressed memories that tried to claw their way up from the depths of her subconscious. She could’ve gone to the hospital wing for a draught of Dreamless Sleep, but they would ask questions, questions that Lexa did not want to answer.

Despite the early hour footsteps echoed from the girl’s stairwell and Octavia emerged through the archway, dressed much more formally than the weekend required. The young witch’s right hand was opening and closing, nervously. Lexa frowned, noticing the twitch.  

“Morning,” Octavia muttered, barely looking at Lexa. _Never mind,_ the older girl thought, _she seems perfectly normal._

“Is that Octavia?” Bellamy sat up from the ground.

“Oh. Hey, Bell,” Octavia gave her brother a cursory glance before walking over to the kitchenette. Lexa and Bellamy shared a look while Octavia made herself a cup of tea as if neither of them were there.  

“O?” Bellamy called to her tentatively.

“Huh?” Octavia started and turned around, “Did you say something?”  

“Are you okay, O?”

“Of course, I’m fine,” she said a little defensively, coming to sit down in a plush chair next to the pair. She stirred her tea.

Lexa raised her eyebrows, “So, why are you up this early? You normally sleep like a log on the weekends.”

“What is this? An intervention?” Octavia bit out, stiffening. “I have to study today and I’m frustrated about it. Happy?”

Bellamy and Lexa leaned back, avoiding the wave of Octavia’s attitude. The younger girl shook her head at them and stood. She downed the rest of her scalding tea and left the common room behind without bothering to say goodbye.  

Octavia hated when the two of them acted like a team of their own. _Do this, Octavia. Do that. Why are you acting funny? Why aren’t you happy?_ It made her want to scream when they treated her like a child; they always felt the need to butt into every part of her life. And Octavia was not about to tell either of them that she needed Potions tutoring. They never kept tabs on each other’s school work. They never made a fuss if one of them got less than stellar marks on a test. But when Octavia was in danger of not passing, they acted like it was the freaking apocalypse. _Hypocrites._  

She wound her way towards the library, simultaneously dreading and looking forward to seeing Lincoln. He was like a breath of fresh air after all the other people to whom she’d been attracted. He was gentle, mature, and kind. When she looked at him she saw the potential for something so great that it left her breathless. Still, despite all of his good qualities, he was a wall of stone when he wanted to be and Octavia had no idea how he felt. The more she flirted or dropped hints, the more reserved he became… and yet there were moments when their eyes met and something would be there - hidden away, something totally unexplainable, something _more._

Her stomach did a small somersault as she reached the doors of the library. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the intense self-control that would be required, and pushed on the doors, but they didn’t budge. _What the hell?_ Octavia shook the doors, hoping perhaps they were simply jammed. No such luck. Measured strides sounded from the corridor behind her and Octavia turned around to see Lincoln. _Breathe, Octavia,_ she told herself firmly. _Damn, he looks good._

He was wearing a soft gray shirt with a pair of dark denim jeans under his robes. Her mind slid into dangerous territory as she took in the way the soft shirt clung to his torso. _Damn, he’s hot. I bet he could teach me much more than potions. Hey Lincoln, where’s the nearest broom closet? Do you wanna make you?_ Octavia sucked in breath, _Ugh, I’m so screwed!_

“Hey,” he greeted her. His words drew her attention away from the distracting pursuit of appraising him.

“The library’s locked,” she gestured towards the door behind her. The words sounded lame in her head, but she felt unable to think of something else to say that wasn’t highly inappropriate.

He shrugged, unconcerned by the turn of events, “Yeah, I forgot to mention it the last time we met, but Madam Tsing doesn’t open the library until eleven on the weekends. Want to find an empty classroom to study in?” _Or a broom closet..._ Octavia bit her lip, trying to reign in her libido. He wasn’t even doing anything.

“What if we go outside?” She suggested, not sure she trusted herself in the privacy of a classroom… just the two of them… all alone. _Stop._

“Ok,” he shrugged, oblivious to the war being waged in front of him.

“Great.”

“Shall we?” he motioned for Octavia to go ahead and fell into step beside her. They walked down towards the ground floor of the castle, Octavia making a conscious effort to keep some distance between them. It was difficult, like fighting to keep two sides of a magnet apart that desperately needed to stay together.

“So, have you been practicing your hand movements?” Lincoln asked casually as they walked through the front doors of the castle and out onto the lawn.

“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded, glancing up at him. He smiled down at her and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. Octavia forced herself to look straight ahead until they sat down at a picnic table outside one of the herbology greenhouses. Thankfully, they sat on different sides of the table; It would have been pure torture if they were to ‘accidentally’ keep brushing up against each other throughout the lesson.

“Were you able to read through _Principles of Healing: A Guide to Sanare Potions_?”

“Yep, cover to cover,” she pulled her notes out of her bag.

“Then you’ll know why we use dandelion root in almost all curative potions?” Lincoln quizzed her. Octavia perked up. She knew this answer.

“It has stabilizing properties that allow such potions to remain effective for much longer.”

“And?”

“And?” _Shit._

“Dandelion root also reduces the side effects of other ingredients.” Lincoln supplied.

“Oh, right.” _Why didn’t I remember that?_

“Do you remember the colloquial term for dandelion root?”

Octavia made her best guess, which she was pretty sure was incorrect, “Witch’s Goop?”

Lincoln laughed, “Close. It’s ‘Witch’s gowan.’”

“Gowan… like a flower?”  

“Precisely,” he waved his wand and a loose splinter on the table transformed into a delicate white daisy. He handed it to Octavia. She swallowed thickly, looking up at him, but he had already turned back to the book in front of him.

“Let’s also look over _Mutare Potions and Their Many Effects_.”

Octavia hesitated, “I didn’t have time to read through that one…”

After a short pause, Lincoln shrugged, “That’s fine. Why don’t you read through the first couple chapters now and you can ask me any questions you have.”

Octavia pulled open the book and began to read, in spite of her erratic mind. The small flower felt like it was burning a hole in her palm. She asked a few questions over the course of the hour. Lincoln would look up from his own studies to answer her. How the hell did he know all of this? It was endearing and maddening at the same time.

One page stood out to her, catching her attention and holding it for a while. It was an illustration of a man with claws instead of hands. The name of the potion was faded, worn away by many years of use. The only visible part of the title was ‘ _elixir,’_ which was pretty useless information.  

She looked up at Lincoln, “This potion doesn’t make sense. It is supposed to transform a part of your body into that of an animal, but there is no specification on how you determine which body part is transformed. See? This picture shows the hands, but what if the potion had transformed his feet or his head. How would you insure that the feature you wanted was the one you got?”

“Which potion is it?”

“I don’t know; the name’s been worn away.” She bent over, trying to decipher the faded text.

Lincoln rose and came to stand behind Octavia for a better vantage point. He leant over her shoulder to look at the pages in question. His nearness sent her heart racing in ways she couldn’t control. He smelled of a heady mixture of pine and cinnamon; it was all too much. Her throat felt dry and rough as she tried to swallow down the swell of emotions, rising within her.

“...most likely. What do you think? Octavia?” He turned to look at her, obviously wanting an answer to a question she had not heard him ask. Her eyes widened as she looked into his handsome face, just mere inches from her own. His dark brown eyes pulled her in with that sweet promise of something more. She searched desperately, but her inhibitions were suddenly nowhere to be found. _Fuck it._ Without thinking, Octavia leaned forward and pressed her lips against his hard mouth.

It was everything she had imagined it would be and her mind was overwhelmed by a sense of triumph and excitement. The moment his lips softened, Octavia careened further into the kiss, but her movement broke the spell. Lincoln pulled back from her, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. He didn’t say a word as he gathered his things and stuffed them fiercely into his bag. His shoulders were stiff with tension. Breathing was suddenly extremely hard for Octavia; she didn’t know what to say. She knew she needed to say something, to make this right, but her mind was a blank page.

He straightened, his mouth set in a hard line. “Do you have any idea how inappropriate that was? I’m your tutor. What the hell were you thinking, Octavia? I thought you could take this seriously, but I was wrong. Jokes on me, I guess.”

“Lincoln--”

“Don’t. Just don’t, Octavia. Anything you say will only make this worse.” He didn’t look at her; he simply stormed away, leaving Octavia alone on the bench, her sense of elation having been deflated into the ground. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Should she run after him? No, he obviously didn’t want to talk to her. Why had she done that? It was too soon. _I should have waited longer, damn it!_ She had ruined everything. He probably wouldn’t want to keep tutoring her anymore. _FUCK._ Was she incapable of letting her head lead, instead of her heart? The look of horror on his face… What if he reported her behavior to Professor Griffin? Would he do that?

She slammed her fists down on the table in frustration. Something sharp poked into the palm of her hand. Octavia looked down, opening her fist to see that the beautiful flower Lincoln had transfigured was once more just a ragged, ugly splinter. Dark emotions boiled inside of her, pulling her out of her seat.

She whipped her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at a water bucket next to the greenhouse door, “ _Alarte Ascendare!_ ” The bucket flew thirty feet in the air and Octavia shouted, “ _Reducto!”_ She turned her head to the side as the bucket shattered, spraying water everywhere. At least that hadn’t changed. At least she was still good at something.

“Ms. Blake, what on earth are you doing?” Professor Pike poked his head out of the greenhouse, giving her a strange look.

“Sorry, Professor,” she muttered and with a flick of her wand caused the broken, scattered pieces of the bucket to mend themselves. Octavia strode back towards the castle quickly, not sticking around long enough to get reprimanded. If Pike wanted to give her detention he could come find her. Far be it from her to make things easy on anyone.

Octavia continued to walk around the castle grounds, trying to clear her head and figure out how to gather the fragments of this situation. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a _reparo_ spell. It wasn’t like she needed anyone to tell her she had fucked up; she already knew that, but there had to be a way for her to fix it. The more she mulled it over, the more the solution eluded her. Finally, exhausted, she stopped, and took a moment to breathe deeply. Whatever she was going to do or say, she had to find Lincoln first. _Take the next step, Octavia._  

The sun was reaching its apex when she turned back towards the castle. She didn’t know where she should start looking for Lincoln. Maybe the Hufflepuff Basement? No, he wouldn’t want her to draw more attention to them. _So, start at the Library,_ Octavia told herself firmly.

“Blake! Hey, Blake! Octavia! Jesus, hold up,” Anya jogged up, grabbing Octavia’s shoulder and halting her halfway through the entrance hall. The young Blake flinched away from the Slytherin, withdrawing her arm purposefully from the older girl’s grasp.

“Yes?” Octavia was losing precious time. She needed to find Lincoln _now._

“Do you know where Lexa is?” Anya asked, ignoring Octavia’s hostile demeanor. Octavia’s shoulders stiffened. The last thing she wanted right now was to have Lexa’s committed relationship thrown in her rejected face.

“Do I look like her keeper? Go ask Bellamy,” Octavia snapped.

“Don’t be a bitch, Octavia. If I’d seen him, I would’ve asked,” Anya retorted, not backing down.

Octavia narrowed her eyes, “If you don’t like my attitude then shove off, Anya.”

“What's your problem?”

“There won’t be a problem, if you stop wasting my time.” Octavia stepped forward, her hand still clutching her wand tightly.

“Seriously? What are you going to do? Hit me with a stunning spell? You’re a fucking fifth year. Get over yourself.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

Their argument was quite conspicuous as they were doing nothing to keep their voices down. Clarke could hear them as she walked down the stairs from the first floor. She recognized the brunette talking heatedly with Anya as Bellamy’s sister. Unsurprisingly, she seemed like a bit of a hellion. _Guess it runs in the family._

Clarke contemplated intervening for Anya’s sake, but what would she say? ‘Stop fighting?’ That sounded petulant and laughable even in her own head. She wasn’t that close to the seventh year Slytherin anyways. They’d hung out a lot over the past month, along with Murphy and Emori, but she couldn’t really call her a friend. Then again it seemed like ‘friend’ wasn’t a term used frequently among Slytherins.

This might have bothered Clarke a year ago, but it suited her just fine now. No one expected anything of her, so she gave very little. In fact, Clarke supposed she enjoyed the company of Slytherins for this very reason. No one got offended if she ducked out without an explanation. No one gave a shit if she was in a bad mood. Actually, Emori gave a shit. The girl had tried to cheer Clarke up on multiple occasions with some dark humor, but she never asked questions, which was nice. Emori was probably the only person Clarke considered remotely close to being a friend. She decided to let Anya fend for herself. _Plus, I’m already late,_ Clarke reasoned cooly.

She gave the caustic pair a wide berth, making her way out onto the castle grounds where she saw a small group waiting on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. _The ‘Forbidden Forest.’ Ooooo, spooky!_ _Someone was feeling creative with that one,_ Clarke mocked, rolling her eyes at no one in particular as she walked towards the patch of people. She had seriously considered ditching detention, but she knew Abby would just make her life a living hell. She had been giving Clarke the cold shoulder since their breakfast two weeks ago. Not that Clarke minded, because she didn’t… at all.

“Cutting it close, aren’t we?” the slim boy who had decked Finn whispered to her as she strolled up. Clarke remembered his name was Jasper.

Her brows furrowed as she looked at him, wondering why he was talking to her. He was a bit of a beanpole, tall and skinny with an angular face. He was sporting an interesting array of facial hair, almost as if he had begun shaving and then got bored midway through and quit. His eyes had a twinkle about them that promised mischief. All and all, he looked pretty harmless and definitely less complicated than the other two boys present, so Clarke flashed him a rare smile.

“What can I say?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth. “I like to live on the edge.”

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled. Their attention was drawn to the group as Abby cleared her throat loudly, giving Clarke a pointed look.

“Now that everyone is here, we can begin,” she said tightly. “You will be gathering murdock root to replenish the store in the Potions’ cupboard. The surface plant looks like a tall weed with large, spade shaped leaves that have jagged edges and purple flowers. You will need to dig up the roots carefully as the spores are extremely poisonous. It is best to do this in pairs so one person can repel the spores, while the other digs out the root. Now, Blake you go with Clar-- with Griffin and Jordan you go with Collins. If one of you comes back without your partner or there is so much as an unexplained scratch on your partner, you will have detention every weekend for the rest of term. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” the boys chorused, but Clarke just stared at her mother, arms crossed. She wasn’t happy about being paired with Bellamy. _At least it’s not Finn,_ she reminded herself. Each duo was provided a basket for the gathered roots and a trowel with which to dig them up.

“You have three hours and I expect the amount of roots to reflect that,” Abby said sternly, before shooing them into the forest.

Clarke finally met Bellamy’s eyes, “Shall we?”

“Whatever you say,” he picked up the basket and headed into the forest without a second glance. _Bellamy Blake,_ Clarke mentally added his name to the list of people she had offended; it was growing exponentially. She wasn’t really surprised in regard to Bellamy, though. He had completely backed off since the spat that landed them both in detention. Clarke might have felt bad about biting his head off, if she had permitted herself, but feeling anything was against her carefully constructed rulebook. Any way she cut the pie, this was going to be an awkward afternoon.

Not even five steps into the shade of the forest, Clarke halted sharply as her robes caught on a prickly bush by the side of the path. She yanked on the material roughly, but it only further entangled the fabric in the plant’s tight clutches.

“I hate… these... stupid robes,” she muttered angrily as she bent down to meticulously pull the material free from each thorn. At Durmstrang the students had been allowed to wear whatever they wanted on the weekends. Yet another point towards Durmstrang and still none for Hogwarts. _What a surprise,_ Clarke thought bitterly. When she finally detangled herself from the bush and stood up, she noticed that Bellamy had waited.

“It’s only for the first month or so,” he stated, glancing at her to make sure she was free, before continuing down the path, “They do it so we get used to wearing them and are less likely forget them during the week.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Clarke huffed, offended on behalf of all Hogwarts’s students.

He shrugged, “In a week or so, we’ll be able to wear muggle clothes anytime we don’t have class.”

“That makes no sense,” she repeated and Bellamy glanced briefly at her again.

“Apparently the students used to sell their robes secondhand to the thrift stores in Hogsmeade… to get money for booze, of course,” he chuckled, his voice resonating deeply through the trees. “They’re actually pretty expensive... Anyways, the school made robes mandatory to prevent the students from selling them, but of course it didn’t last because no one wanted to wear robes all the time. So they shortened the mandatory period to the first month of term… outside of classes, of course. Now it’s just tradition, I guess.”

Clarke looked at him as if he was crazy, “Why do you know all this?”

“I like history,” he shrugged, then stopped mid-stride, “I think that’s murdock root.” He was pointing at a large green weed a few paces off the trail.

“Good eye,” Clarke offered; the compliment tasted strange in her mouth. She didn’t give herself long enough to consider this and instead took off towards their target. The plant was easily four feet tall, it’s large leaves held up by a sturdy, thick stalk. Four or five clusters of nettle flowers hung, their bulbous heads crowned by purple bristles.

“Clarke, wait,” Bellamy’s voice was raised behind her, but she ignored him, barreling ahead. _Why is he being such a pansy? Let’s get this over with._

“It’s fine,” she threw over her shoulder, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. The sound of cracking twigs echoed through the forest as he hurried to catch up with her. Clarke turned to give him a smug look. _I told you so._

“Look out!” His arm collided with her side, pushing her roughly away. _Crack._ A small dart-shaped object was lodged in a tree behind them, exactly where Clarke’s head had been only moments before. The bulbous flowers had opened, revealing tiny, demonic faces that were hissing and spitting spore darts at the two of them. Bellamy and Clarke dove, taking cover behind the large tree where the first dart had buried itself.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clarke shouted, breathless.  

“Excuse me?”

“Not you,” she shook her head before yanking it towards the venomous plant. A spore whizzed past their heads and they crouched closer together, their backs to the trunk of the tree.

“Okay,” Bellamy said, trying to think. “We just need to get close enough to the roots to dig them out with the trowel.”

“What trowel?” Clarke raised her eyebrows at him. Bellamy looked around frantically, but the basket and tool were ten feet away, where he had dropped them when he had pushed her out of harm’s way.

Running a hand through his hair, Bellamy cursed heatedly, “My _wand_ is in that basket!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed and this time she was talking to him.

Bellamy ignored her commentary, “Cover me while I go for the trowel and my wand. What? Do you have a better idea?” His deep voice sounded annoyingly confident despite the fact that _he_ was the one that had lost his wand.

Clarke closed her eyes and took a deep breath; exhaling, she leaned around the tree and yelled, _“Stupify!”_ The murdock nettles kept throwing poisonous spores, albeit at a slightly slower rate. _Damn it._

“Fine,” she bit out. “We run towards the basket on three.”

“One,” he looked at her, bracing himself against the tree.

“Two,” she returned his gaze, tucking her feet under her body.

“Three,” they pushed away from the tree as one.

“ _Protego!_ ” Clarke shouted, raising her wand to create a shield between the plant and their bodies. It worked. The spores ricocheted off the milky half-dome protecting them, making sharp pinging noises as they hit the barrier. Clarke ran, keeping her body and the shield in between the plant and Bellamy.

“Move towards the murdock,” Bellamy ordered firmly as he gathered his wand and the trowel. Clarke grit her teeth at being told what to do, but didn’t argue. _Now is not the time, Griffin._ United, the Slytherin and Gryffindor progressed forward, until they reached the base of the plant.

“Hurry,” Clarke urged, her arms starting to shake under the strain; it was taking a great deal of magic to repel the copious spores being thrown at them.

Bellamy knelt on the ground and began to hack at the base of the stalk; it was harder than it looked, having the same texture as dense muscle.

“This isn’t working,” his voice was panicked.

“Bellamy!” Clarke shouted through clenched teeth, “Do. Something. Anything!” The milky shield protecting them was shrinking at an alarming rate.

He dropped the trowel and pointed his wand at the base of the plant, “ _Diffindo!”_

An ear-splitting shriek ripped the air as the stalk toppled to the ground, severed by Bellamy’s spell. Black, tar-like goo oozed out of the stalk, shriveling everything that it touched.

“Ugh,” Bellamy grunted in disgust, stepping back. Clarke lowered her wand, the milky white dome evaporating. Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. She turned as a dying, demon nettle spit one last dart right at Bellamy.

“Look out!” She called, echoing his earlier warning. He wasn’t moving quickly enough. The dart was still going to hit his leg. “ _Incendio_ !” Clarke’s well-aimed spell, caused the spore to erupt into flames, falling short of its intended target. It landed right on the edge of Bellamy’s robes. “Shit! _Aguamenti_!” Clarke corrected too late. A fat hole, the size of her hand, lay burned into the black fabric, but he remained untouched. Clarke sighed in relief and let out a short laugh and looked to Bellamy. Her expression faltered.

He stared at his singed robes for what seemed like a minute, his mouth pinched into a firm line. Without saying a word, he bent down and dug out the root with the trowel. He threw the root into the basket and started back towards the path. _Excuse me? Is he seriously mad?_

“You’re welcome,” Clarke huffed, annoyed when she caught up to him. He nodded shortly, but didn’t stop walking, his shoulders rigid. They walked in silence for a few minutes; Clarke tried to keep her mouth shut and let him pout it out, but the more she tried the more frustrated she became. When he still hadn’t spoken after another five minutes, she cracked.

“Oh my god,” she grabbed hold of his arm, pulling them both to a standstill. “Are you actually this upset about your robes? Just order another pair for fuck’s sake!”

He gave her an incredulous look and it seemed like he wanted to say more, but refused to comment. His silence was even more infuriating.

“What?” she snapped, crossing her arms.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, turning back down the path.

“ _What_?” She grabbed his arm again and this time didn’t let go. His arm tensed beneath her hand.

“Look, not all of us can afford to just buy new clothes, _Princess,”_ Bellamy ground out, pulling himself free of her grasp.

“Don’t call me Princess,” she dropped her hand, stung.   

“Why not?” He looked at her scathingly, his eyes blazing, “You are, after all, Hogwarts royalty.”

“God, you’re such a child! I’m sure your reputation can withstand a torn robe for a few hours. Put on a different set when you get back,” she sneered, her blue eyes flashing with unconcealed disdain.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just drop it, Griffin.” He took off down the path for the second time.

“No,” Clarke jogged to catch up with him. “I want to know why you’re being such a _dick_ about this.”

He whirled around, causing Clarke to take a step back. “Because this is the only pair I have! Okay?”

“Oh.” Clarke felt her whole body flush hot with embarrassment. _Good job, Griffin. Filled your weekly quota of assholery._

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, _Princess_ ,” he bit out and stalked away. She didn’t bother to correct him.

In silence, they walked deeper into the forest; the trees grew closer together and the meager sunlight dwindled, too weak to pierce the dense canopy above. Clarke tried her best to ignore the tension that oscillated between them as they gathered three more roots, each one slightly easier than the last as they developed a routine.

“Five knuts Jasper and Finn have already killed each other,” Clarke murmured as she pulled the fourth root out from the ground. She wiped the sweat off of her face, pushing back a few stray strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.

“I need every knut I have, Princess,” Bellamy retorted, lowering the shield spell. She raised her eyebrows at him, snorting at the innuendo.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he said, sarcastically, but she heard him chuckle when he turned away. She smiled, satisfied.

“Hey,” she threw over her shoulder, standing up, “I think I see another murdock not that far away.” Clarke strode further into the forest, raising her wand ahead of her.

“It’s almost time to head back,” Bellamy called after her. “We shouldn’t go any further from the path. Clarke! Damn it, Clarke!” His footsteps sounded behind her, indicating that he had chosen to follow. _Good._ She halted when she reached a large grove of trees; on the opposite side of the clearing she spotted the murdock plant.

“Just one more,” she said, more to herself than Bellamy. She found this task strangely therapeutic.  

For Bellamy, the afternoon had been anything but therapeutic. He drew up beside her, resisting the urge to steal another glance; he felt like if he looked at her for too long, he would combust. He wasn’t sure if that would be a good or a bad thing. She was so damn frustrating, she didn’t know how to listen, and she was privileged beyond belief, but, despite all of this, he felt entranced by her. She moved with an agile grace when she cast spells that captivated him. He’d been so distracted by her that he had almost severed his own leg rather than the murdock the first time around. There was something about her, like now, when she grinned up at him, excited by the prospect of wrangling another murdock nettle. Bellamy wondered whether Clarke even realized she was smiling at him. He looked away, focusing on the clearing ahead, terrified again of that inevitable combustion.

At the center of the grove was a large blackthorn tree, its gnarled, twisted branches reaching in desperate prayer towards the sky. Its trunk, cracked and peeling, looked more like a corpse rising from the earth rather than a tree. A sense of foreboding stole over Bellamy, gripping his chest with icy fingers. For a moment, he was transported from the grove; he stood before an open door. A shadowed body lay crumpled before him, its blank eyes staring up, cloudy and lifeless. As quickly as the image rose, it faded, leaving Bellamy once more on the outskirts of the grove.

“What the hell is this place?” he gasped, but Clarke was no longer beside him. She was on a warpath, heading towards the murdock nettle by the fastest route, a route which would take her directly beneath the blackthorn tree. Without rhyme or reason, he sprinted after her, feeling rather than knowing something was about to go terribly wrong.

“Clarke!” he shouted and relief flooded him when she froze, turning to heed his call, but the reprieve was fleeting; she took another step, the movement bringing her underneath the branches of the blackthorn. A great cracking sound rang throughout the grove and Clarke’s face transformed from confusion to sheer terror as the ground split beneath her. His legs were burning, but he pushed them harder, desperate to reach her in time. Bellamy dove, reaching out blindly as she disappeared from view. His hand clamped around something soft… and warm. _Thank god._ Clarke’s yelp rang out as her arm pulled sharply in his effort to keep her from falling.

“Grab my other hand!” Bellamy groaned, the muscles in his right arm straining against the full weight of her. Clarke swung her other hand up, grasping onto Bellamy’s arm. Grunting, he pulled her back onto solid ground. They tumbled backwards, sprawling onto the leaf strewn forest floor. Clarke rolled onto her back and began to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” he insisted, as he rubbed his shoulders. It felt like his arms had just been ripped out of their sockets.

She turned towards him, clutching her stomach as fits of giggles took her. He shook his head, utterly lost for words. _This girl is a fucking mystery._ He chuckled at the thought and the sound was the opening to a floodgate. He couldn’t stop laughing as relief swept over him. He had been so sure that he wouldn’t get to her in time. Both of them lay breathless, looking at the canopy as their laughter subsided. _That’s it,_ he thought with amusement, _Nothing she does will ever surprise me again._

Clarke twisted her head to look at him and raised her hand, “Friends?” _Except that._  

“Friends,” he nodded after a beat, shaking her raised hand.

“Soooo,” Clarke said, drawing out the vowel. “As my new friend, will you help me retrieve my wand? I may or may not have dropped it down that hole…”

“Unbelievable,” Bellamy shook his head. “Come on.” After a few labored attempts at standing up and a lot more laughter, they walked over to the hole in the ground. However, the ‘ground’ that Clarke had been standing on turned out to be a flimsy cover of branches and leaves. They moved aside the remaining camouflage and found earthen stairs on the opposite end.

“ _Lumos,”_ Bellamy muttered under his breath when he reached the bottom of the staircase. Despite the magical light, the darkness still clung to the walls like moss, reminding Bellamy of his earlier foreboding.

“Good thing I didn’t fall,” Clarke murmured behind him; the descent was easily thirty feet. Suddenly, she crowed in triumph and pushed past him, spotting her wand. Once back in her possession, she lit her wand as well, raising it high overhead.

“What is this place?” Bellamy breathed out as the light of their combined magic further illuminated the space. They were in what appeared to be an underground cavern, cradled by the roots of the blackthorn tree. The floor sloped downwards and the ceiling up, creating a large ovular room, save one side which was strangely blunt; the haphazard stone marred the perfect symmetry of the space, as if nature had just grown lazy.

“Look at this,” Clarke called to him. She stood next to the nearest wall, running her wand along its surface. “There are runes on the wall.”

Bellamy nodded, but was distracted by something at the center of the cave. There was a deep well in the ground that bore the telltale scorch of fire. _Must have been a hearth once._ To the left was what appeared to be a table, roughly hewn from stone.

“Wow,” Clarke hummed, coming up behind him. She picked up half of a clay bowl that was broken into pieces.

“I think this is an old cave dwelling... Didn’t Kane mention these in class?”

“Sure, he’s always talking about ancient wizards. Honestly, I usually do the rest of my homework in that class… These runes are incredible though.” Clarke returned to the wall, “They’re so faded, they are almost indistinguishable. I’ve never seen anything like them.” Bellamy watched as she traced the lines on the wall, moving further back into the cave. Her fingers caressed the shapes with a gentle intimacy. He shook his head, remembering why they were there and what they were supposed to be doing.

“We should probably head back,” he called to her. “I don’t want your mom to give me detention for the rest of term for not bringing you back on time.”

Clarke snorted, but moved back towards the center of the cave all the same. After some deliberation they decided to cover the entrance with branches once more, keeping the cave partially protected from the elements. The two made the trek back through the Forbidden Forest without additional drama. However, as they left the darker parts of the forest behind, a slight stiffness returned to their interactions, both unsure of what exactly had transpired. Were they friends? Technically they had agreed to be earlier while lying side by side on the ground, but Bellamy didn’t know for sure and Clarke wouldn’t ask.

Still, facing danger does something to a person; it makes one think carefully about who can be trusted. Even the renewed light of reality outside of the forest couldn’t strip them of that experience. They arrived back at the lawn just in time to meet up with the others, neither one breathing a word about what they had found.

Raven watched the group return from the forest; she had been waiting for them by the edge of the Great Lake. Well, maybe _waiting_ wasn’t the right word. She knew when and where Jasper and Finn were serving detention today and she had also convinced Octavia to come lay out with her by the lake. Those were two separate facts…. sort of.

She had a few heated words stored up for Jasper, but he had managed to avoid them and her for the past two weeks. They had seen each other, of course, but any time there was danger of being alone with her, the fool would conveniently and suddenly disappear. Raven still couldn’t believe that he had done it - punched Finn. This from the self-proclaimed ‘lover’ and ‘pacifist.’ It was so unlike him.

No matter how out of character it was, it still didn’t excuse his behavior. Raven wasn’t some damsel in need of defending. If she had wanted Finn to have a black eye, she would have given it to him herself. Jasper knew that, which is why what he had done was so infuriating. She regretted ever telling him about Finn’s misdeeds.

So Raven sat on the blanket Octavia had brought, watching for any movement by the edge of the forest. For once, the younger Blake seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice any odd behavior or distraction on Raven’s part. They weren’t the only ones who had decided to soak up some sun this weekend; the lakeshore was strewn with students of all ages and houses who were only too happy to have an excuse to shed their oppressive black robes. In fact, Roan and some of his Gryffindor cohort had taken residence near the girls’ perch, which didn’t appear to be a coincidence. The seventh year Gryffindor kept finding reasons to encroach on their space, whether it was a ‘rogue’ ball that was thrown too close or the surreptitious glances he kept throwing her way.

Raven hadn’t decided whether she found it amusing or annoying when the objects of her hunt made an appearance, emerging from the dark edge of the forest. They weren’t alone; two more shapes emerged only minutes later and as the four walked back towards the castle, Raven easily recognized Clarke’s white-blonde hair. She swallowed. _I’m fine. Everything’s just fine,_ she repeated to herself. She could talk to Jasper later. She didn’t need to talk to him now. _Raven Reyes, you are not scared of her. Buck up and put your big girl panties on._ Clarke wasn’t going to get in her way. Nope, Raven wasn’t going to give her that kind of power.

Standing up, Raven made some feeble excuse to Octavia and headed off towards the approaching group, intending to catch Jasper before they headed inside. Before she got very far, she was distracted from her target as he and someone, who she now saw was Bellamy, broke away from the group, leaving Finn and Clarke alone. Raven froze, unable to tear eyes away from the pair. In the distance, Clarke stopped. Had Finn said something to her? Yes, he must have, he was turning to face her now. Clarke’s blonde head was facing away and Raven wasn’t close enough to see the fine details of Finn’s expression or hear whatever words he was saying. Raven’s hands clenched into fists at her side. _Look away,_ she pleaded, unsure of whether she was speaking to herself or Finn. He took Clarke’s hand in his; Raven felt extremely cold and then uncomfortably hot all over. She was going to be sick.

Even from a distance, Raven could tell the moment Finn’s brown eyes latched onto her. _Do something. Move, Reyes. Don’t just stand there! Move!_ Raven swiveled around, catching Jasper out of the corner of her eye, but not bothering to stop. She stalked back towards the lake, the little voice in her head repeating itself as incessantly as a broken record on loop: _Do something. Do something. Do something. Do something._

She glanced at Octavia sitting on the blanket. _No, do something._ Raven saw a few students bravely swimming in the frigid lake. _Damn it, do something._ Roan was playing catch with some friends. He glanced over to see if she was watching and his eyes widened in surprise when he registered that she was. _Yes, do something._ Raven walked with determined, unfaltering steps over to where he stood and, pulling his stunned face down with both hands, kissed him full on the mouth. The voice in her head quieted and she let her lips linger against his own.

“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” Roan asked, grinning down at her with a satisfied smirk.

“Sure,” Raven shrugged indifferently and then added, “Why the hell not?”

Not waiting for a response, Raven pulled him down by the collar for another kiss, continuing their very public makeout session to the background whistles of his Gryffindor cohort until there was no doubt that Finn and Clarke were long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW summary:** The section in italics is Bellamy’s dream sequence. It is his memory of coming home to find his mother dead and his sister hiding in a closet. This happened around the age of seven. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed chapter six <3 Next chapter is going to have a cute IceMechanic date, an important conversation for Anya and Lexa, and more Bellamy and Clarke bonding. Lexa is going to meet Clarke (for realz) soonish. I promise! She's a little preoccupied at the moment with her imploding relationship. Also more background for Lexa coming in Chapter 8! As always, if you have time to leave a comment it is always appreciated! Until next time Xx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! 
> 
> Just a heads up… I will be walking the Camino Frances in a few weeks and unfortunately will not be able to update while on the trek. It’s almost 900 kilometers! Wow. I’m both excited and daunted! I hope to give you all a few more updates before I head off and I’ll be sure to inform you which chapter is the last before the break. Please don’t be worried! I will finish this story. I have all the chapters (for part one at least) planned out so it’s just a matter of writing them! 
> 
> I’d like to give a shoutout to my beta, dracoterrae9099, for her wonderful help and also a shoutout to one of my lovely readers, Dovikkare, who has been commenting every chapter <3 Thank you!

Chapter 7:   
**_Falling Apart, Falling Back Together_ **

* * *

This was all you, none of it me  
You put your hands all over my body and told me   
You told me you were ready   
For the big one, for the big jump   
I'd be your last love everlasting you and me   
That was what you told me  
...   
Send my love to your new lover  
Treat her better   
We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts   
We both know we ain't kids no more   
**Send My Love - Adele**

* * *

“That’s it?” Anya’s face was a mixture of disbelief and frustration, an expression that was quickly becoming common for her. Lexa sighed, noting this, but continued backing down the hall towards the closed door of the class to which she was already five minutes late.

“Babe, it’s…” Lexa checked her watch just to be sure, “11:06, which makes me six minutes late for class. Whatever it is that we need to talk about can wait. I’ll find you afterwards, okay?” Lexa reassured the older girl, her sentence hurried and half-finished by the time she pushed through the classroom door with her shoulder. The room hushed as she entered and Professor Griffin gave her an overstated eyebrow raise at her tardiness. Lexa, cool as ever, bowed forward, her lips slightly upturned into a half smile; the gesture fronted respect while hinting at a deeper level of subversion. It was something of a speciality of hers.

Truthfully, she hated being late, but it was a necessary evil this morning. Bellamy had been acting weird ever since detention this past weekend and wouldn’t tell Lexa the cause. She had caught him zoning out during multiple conversations and whenever she called him on it, his immediate response was to clear his throat and pretend he wasn’t blushing. It was very curious. No doubt it had something to do with a girl. _Women are the heart of any problem and its solution,_ Lexa thought sagely as she took an empty seat towards the back of the room. When she had probed Bellamy about the situation further, he had merely scoffed and offered with forced blitheness, “We’re just friends.”

_Bellamy doth protest too much, methinks,_ Lexa smirked sardonically to herself, organizing her materials onto the desk in front of her. But the smile was short lived. Here she was analyzing his love life while her own was in dire need of some attention. Although she was loathe to admit it, Lexa had been avoiding Anya a bit. None of it was intentional. It wasn’t like she woke up today and thought, ‘ _Yeah, I’m going to skip breakfast with my girlfriend to berate my best friend and have both be mad at me.’_ No, of course she hadn’t wanted that result; however, there was a nagging weight in the pit of her stomach when she thought about Anya or their relationship.

Lexa had never dated anyone for this long before. Soon they’ll have been dating for over a year and that meant things would be getting more serious. She didn’t have a problem with monogamy, but there were certain expectations of intimacy and openness that accompanied a long-term relationship. Every time they were together Lexa felt the impending change in their relationship like a freight train collision that she just couldn’t seem to stop.

“...it's not the monkswood that will cause the potion to turn blue, but the combination of it with the belladonna mixed at precisely the same time.” Professor Griffin’s measured voice drew Lexa from her reverie. Looking around she saw that the other students had already begun brewing a potion… and she hadn’t even pulled out her cauldron yet. It was going to be one hell of a class.

“Mr. Jordan, kindly tend to your own potion instead of to Ms. Reyes’ ears,” the professor’s stern reprimand carried to the other side of the room, accompanied by the soft sniggers of a few students.

Raven, for once in her life, was glad of the additional scrutiny. Instead of continuing to chew her out, Jasper turned a cocky grin to the rest of the class, as if he had just received an award instead of an admonishment. Then again, annoying professors was his favorite sport. Raven still couldn’t piece together how Jasper had landed himself in Ravenclaw; the skinny, charismatic boy always seemed like more of a Hufflepuff to her.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Reyes,” Jasper whispered out of the corner of his mouth, still waving his hand amiably at the class even though most had already turned their attention away. Raven groaned, her blissful reprieve painfully cut short.

“Just leave it, okay?” she said, chopping the belladonna root coarsely as instructed. “It’s my life anyways.”

“Sure, it is, but I’m your friend and as your friend it's my _duty_ to tell you when you’re making a huge mistake.”

“Please,” Raven’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, “don’t hold back. Tell me how you’re really feel.”

Jasper held up his fingers sequentially, “Number one, Roan is a tool. Two, you just got out of a serious relationship. Three, Roan is a tool. Four, Roan is a _tool_. Seriously. He’s not even the brightest one in the shed. Five, don’t you want to think about this? Maybe you need more time? Time? _Time_...” He repeated the last word quietly, gesturing out at a metaphorical horizon and then looking at her as if she was supposed to share in this eureka moment.

Raven rolled her eyes, “It’s just lunch, Jasper. Nothing serious. Not even a date, really. When did it become a crime to have lunch with a guy? I guess that means _we_ can’t hang out anymore… Too bad!” She gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Ahem,” Professor Griffin cleared her throat in passing, giving Raven another momentary reprieve.

“I see what you did there, but I still think I have a point,” he continued in that boyishly confident way as soon as the professor had reached a safe distance. Why was he pushing this?

“You see, I think--” He leaned over to whisper in her ear and bumped her shoulder at the precise moment Raven was adding the belladonna and monkswood to her potion. The monkswood flew out of her hand, while the belladonna fell with a soft plop into the bubbling liquid. It turned a fluorescent shade of pink.

“Jasper! Damn it!” Raven fumed, fumbling to grab the rogue monkswood. “Look what you made me do. Ugh, I hate Potions. There’s no sense, no logic, no wiring, no circuitry.”  

“Hey, hey,” Jasper took the monkswood from her. “Scooch over. I’ll fix it. It’s just _chemistry_.” He winked at her, unfazed. He picked up a few more leaves of monkswood than the instructions called for and the rest of the chopped belladonna; scattering both into the cauldron, he slowly stirred in a figure eight formation. The potion turned a light blue as the clock on the wall chimed, signaling the end of class. Jasper’s own potion was still a solid violet.

“Well done, Ms. Reyes,” Professor Griffin gave her an appreciative smile. “Mr. Jordan, your potion skills might improve if you spent less time talking in class.”

“Duly noted, Doc,” Jasper saluted, only deepening the frown in the professor’s forehead. Raven flicked her wand to clear the contents of their desks and then headed out the door with Jasper in tow.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Raven said glumly, still partly annoyed at him for his pestering, but mostly annoyed at needing help.

“You can thank me with a game of Exploding Snaps after your non-date date.”

The two walked off, waving a short ‘hello’ to Octavia as they passed her in the hallway. The younger Blake gave a delayed greeting back, preoccupied by her current mission: _don’t throw up._

Octavia slowed her steps; the last thing she wanted to do was arrive early. In spite of her cool exterior, she was a riot of nerves on the inside. She’d received a letter yesterday from Professor Griffin that had read: _Ms. Blake, We should discuss your handling of Lincoln’s tutelage. Please come to the dungeons tomorrow between 3rd and 4th period. - A. Griffin._

The twenty-four hours since receiving the letter had been a confusing blur, her emotions oscillating between panic and frustration. Somehow, Professor Griffin had found out about that kiss… that stupid, _wonderful_ kiss. If Lincoln had been the one to tell her, Octavia would be mortified and outraged by how poorly she had read the situation. How could she possibly have thought there was a chance with him? If not… well that was almost worse. It would make her thoughtless action the very thing that might penalize him, despite his innocence. Either way, someone was going to be in trouble and Octavia couldn’t keep her stomach from performing acrobatics. In ten steps she would reach the door to the classroom and there would be no turning back. Five steps. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Close the door, Ms. Blake,” Professor Griffin’s voice ordered before she had even crossed the threshold. _Lord, have mercy on my soul._ Octavia turned around slowly, catching the door with her hand and pulling it shut with a resounding thud.

Lincoln already stood beside the front desk, his back turned to her, his posture stiff and resolute. If only she had been able to talk to him after the incident. Why didn’t she spend more time looking for him? _Because you were embarrassed, you fool. Stop freaking out. Calm down. Don’t say anything until asked._ Octavia pressed her lips into a firm line as she reached the front of the room, taking a place to the right of Lincoln. She left a solid four feet between them for good measure. Professor Griffin peered up at them from where she sat behind the desk, her keen eyes shifting back and forth between the pair.

“Well?” She raised her eyebrows cooley. “Who is going to speak first? Hmmmm, I suppose I should have done this separately. Spoken with each of you individually, I mean. I might have received a more honest answer. No matter, Ms. Blake, progress report please. Do you feel that you are improving under Lincoln’s guidance?”

“What?” Octavia couldn’t believe her ears. _Progress report._ This had nothing to do with her humiliatingly naive behavior? She glanced quickly at Lincoln, but his face was as stoic as ever.

“Do you feel that tutoring has helped with your Potions acumen?”

“Umm, yes. Yes,” Octavia repeated the second affirmation with more confidence, still shocked by the turn of events. This was not the conversation she had been expecting. Sweet relief flooded her so quickly she felt her head spin. Octavia pinched her forearm behind her back to stay focused on the scene before her. Professor Griffin looked at her expectantly, perhaps waiting for a more complete answer. Octavia didn’t have one, her throat felt extraordinary thick and dry all of a sudden.

“Lincoln?” Professor Griffin turned her sharp attention onto the taller figure in the room. Octavia held her breath.

“She is doing extremely well, professor. Octavia has improved a great deal in both Potions theory and vocabulary and soon we will begin practical application so that she has more ‘hands on’ experience with O.W.L. level potions.”

“Excellent,” Professor Griffin clapped her hands together, smiling. “I expect to see these improvements in class, Ms. Blake.”

“Of course, professor,” Octavia spoke quickly, finding her voice.

“Very well, it seems you need little guidance from me. Carry on,” she shooed them away, dismissing the pair effectively.  

Octavia felt like she was floating as she walked out of the classroom. Lincoln hadn’t told Professor Griffin about the kiss and, on top of that, he’d spoken highly of her improvement. It was an exaggeration, of course. She was not sure _why_ he had said it. Perhaps he simply wanted to spare himself the embarrassment of a wily student… Octavia looked up to see that Lincoln stood only a few steps ahead of her in the hallway. Was he waiting for her?  

“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat; she found it hard to meet his gaze, embarrassment at their last interaction and his firm rejection swelled up. Swallowing, Octavia forced it down and stared him steadily in the eyes. She was a Blake and Blakes didn’t back down from anything.

“Don’t thank me, Octavia. I lied. We both know that. Now you have to make sure it becomes true. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. 4 p.m., sharp. The usual table in the library.” He was off before she even had a chance to take another breath. As Octavia watched him leave, she squashed any feelings she had for him. _All right. Enough._ For both of their sakes, it had to be done. He had made it clear that he wasn’t interested and she deserved better than to torture herself over it. _Enough._ If he was willing to still teach her, she was going to be the best damn student possible.

Filled with new resolve, Octavia walked purposefully towards the library. If she hurried, she would have time to write a few pages of notes before lunch. In her consuming determination, she didn’t hear the raised voices coming from an old, disused classroom as she passed. She kept walking oblivious to the argument occurring on the inside.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Anya,” Lexa repeated the same words for the fourth time since their conversation began, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward of the impending migraine.

Anya growled in frustration. “I don’t _want_ you to say anything! I want you to _have_ something to say! This isn’t-- I’m not just going to go away if you stay silent.”

“I know that,” Lexa snapped, her head starting to pound. They had been in this classroom since the end of third period. Lexa had already missed most of her fourth period class and was now watching the slow combustion of her relationship, feeling like a spectator to this match rather than an opponent.

“All I am asking for is a _little_ more of your time and you’re looking at me like I have antlers growing out of my head!”

“That must be frustrating,” Lexa closed her eyes; she couldn’t think, her head was pounding.

Anya made an angry sound that was halfway between a scream and a shout, “That’s it?”

“I’m not purposefully avoiding you, Anya. It’s school, it’s fucking busy. We have shit to do and we are in different houses. It’s impossible to see each other all the time.”

“Really? You seem to have plenty of time for Bellamy,” the older girl laughed sharply, her eyes hard.

“We’re in the same house,” Lexa said, lamely. Why couldn’t she find more emotion? This was the time for it, but all she could feel was the painful pounding in her head.

“Bullshit, Lex.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” _Five times._  

“I just want you to make an effort instead of sitting here with your fucking eyes closed.”

Lexa opened her eyes, “My head hurts.” _Thud. Thud. Thud_. The pressure in her head was growing, an incessant beat pounding against her skull.

“Does it? Well, my fucking heart hurts Lexa. You’re ripping it apart.”

“I’m sorry.” _Thud. Thud. Thud._

“Are you?”

“Yes.” _Thud. Thud._

“I need more.”

“I know.” _Thud._

“I love you.”

“I know.” There was a long, pregnant pause. Lexa didn’t have to look up to know she had said the wrong thing or to see the wounded expression on Anya’s face. But she did, her green eyes meeting wide brown ones.

“You-” Anya began.

“I need a break. I can’t do this anymore,” Lexa spoke tiredly, finally expressing what she needed even though she knew it wasn’t what Anya wanted to hear.

“Fine,” Anya snapped, her tone biting, and she stormed out the door. Lexa was fairly sure there were tears in Anya’s eyes as she brushed past, but the Gryffindor was not certain, so she chose to believe the opposite. The quiet was blissful, minimally retarding the approaching migraine. She just couldn’t take it anymore, the shouting, the intensity, the profession of _love_ ; it was too much, more than she wanted. _Take care of yourself, no one else will..._ the voice in her head echoed, repeating the phrase she had told herself many times throughout the years.

Sighing heavily, she got up and walked slowly towards the Hospital Wing. She didn’t know what excuse she would have to give for some migraine medicine, but she didn’t care. She would say anything right now to make the pounding in her head cease. Doubt and regret tried to crawl their way into her mind, but there was not enough room for them. She would think about it tomorrow, or as soon as this insufferable headache disappeared.

Raven almost ran into Lexa as she came around the corridor on her way outside, but the girl barely even gave her a second glance. _Well, excuse me,_ Raven raised her eyebrows at the Gryffindor, but for once Trikru didn’t engage, she simply sidestepped past Raven without comment or apology. The dark brunette renewed her quick footsteps heading towards the castle grounds.

Roan had cryptically asked her to meet him near the Great Lake at lunchtime, but hadn’t said anything else. She’d been on the fence this morning and had already decided not to go, but then Jasper had been so _pushy_. Raven could make her own damn decisions; now here she was, heading down the steps onto the lawn, not because Roan had asked her to come or because Jasper had told her not to, but because she was not a quitter.

Sure, she felt a little embarrassed about the PDA last weekend - by now the whole school knew about how ‘Reyes jumped Azgedha’ - but it was ridiculous to fixate on it. Raven had gotten exactly what she wanted: a distraction. People were talking about her and Roan now and no longer asking, ‘What happened with Finn?’ _Finally._

She was tired of giving that noncommittal shrug and, ‘It didn’t work out,’ or, ‘We’re just too different,’ or, ‘We’re better as friends.’ No matter which vague answer Raven gave, it always led to more questions, ‘Don’t you live with his family?’ or, ‘Wow, but you were together for like three years,’ or, ‘Oh no, I really thought you two would make it.’ _Yeah, thanks for the reminder, assholes._

None of her close friends asked about it, thankfully, but the first month of term had been like an obstacle course of classmates and random acquaintances asking personal questions. ‘How was your summer?’ _Great._ ‘Did you do anything fun?’ _No._ ‘Are you still dating Finn?’ _No._ ‘Oh no, what happened?’ _None of your damn business._ The worst was when a fourth or fifth year girl, obviously crushing on Finn, would come up to ask about it. ‘I heard you and Finn broke up, is that true?’ was code for ‘Is your boyfriend single now, because I’d really like to bone him!’ _Thanks for asking! Go right ahead!_

The morning after the lake stint with Roan had been like finally waking up from a nightmare. No one mentioned Finn’s name once; it was magnificent and she was more than happy to keep it going.

“Hey!” Roan waved, jogging up to her, “You made it.”

“Hey,” she threw back as he approached. “So, what are we doing here?”

“It’s a surprise. Come on,” he grinned at her dubious expression and led her to a large tree further down the lakeshore. Under the tree was a red-and-white picnic blanket, sporting a wicker basket and some flowers. Raven felt her face turn red as she took in the scene. _Oh my god._

“Uh,” she said lamely, trying to gather the fragments of her mind that had suddenly scattered. This was not at all what she had been expecting. The total of their interactions to date consisted of passing in the hallway, one unintentional almost-hook up, one argument, and one intentional kiss. It wasn’t exactly gold standard.

“Is it too much?” Roan asked, laughing at himself good naturedly.

“A little,” Raven admitted, still blushing. “It’s nice though!”

“Here, sit down,” he gave her a hand, a perfect gentleman. Raven cleared her throat, uncomfortably; she didn’t know what to do or say, suddenly overwhelmed by the sincerity of this gesture.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” she said, glancing at the yellow daffodils.

“Oh?” Roan’s blue eyes twinkled, “What were you expecting, exactly?”

“I don’t know… a quickie by the lake,” she said brazenly, shrugging. _Hey, it never hurts to be honest._

He threw his head back, roaring with laughter, “I guess, I deserve that. Well, I’m happy to have surprised you.” Raven breathed out, watching his delighted expression and suddenly feeling guilty about how she had wanted to use him.

“Just to be clear, I’m not interesting in anything serious,” the words were out of her mouth before she realized she had said them. _Good job, Reyes. Way to ease into it._

“Okay,” Roan shrugged casually.

“Great.”

“Alright.” There was an awkward pause and Raven pressed her lips together.

“So,” she started. “What does a girl have to do to get something to eat around here?”

“The food is free,” Roan took out some ham sandwiches from the hamper, “but the company is priceless.” He winked at her.

“You’re too much,” Raven chuckled, shaking her head.

“And you are exceptionally pretty when you blush.”

“I might actually die of overload if you keep laying it on this thick,” Raven gestured around at the picnic blanket and flowers with her sandwich-free hand. “I don’t really do _cute_.”

“Imafa nod addat,” he mumbled through a big mouthful of sandwich.

“What?”

He swallowed, “I’ll make a note of that.”

“Good,” she smiled and took bite of sandwich, noting for the second time how strange this all felt. _Good strange, though. Don’t overthink, Reyes. Just enjoy it._

A good distance away from the pair, strode a third figure, heading with silent determination towards the Forbidden Forest. Bellamy moved with practiced ease; he didn’t once look over his shoulder, as if an afternoon stroll amid the trees was simply part of his daily routine. This was all a show, of course; students, as a rule, didn’t enter the forest alone, but Bellamy had never been one for rules, unless they were of his own making. However, his mission was of an entirely separate nature.

Since detention last weekend, he hadn’t been able to get the cave out of his mind… or Clarke for that matter. His memory of the underground cavern had distracted his focus in classes. It had crept its way into his dreams, so much so that he was no longer sure if it _was_ real or simply a figment of his overactive mind.

Clarke’s cool demeanor had returned almost immediately after detention, or perhaps it had never left? ‘ _Friends?’_ she had asked after he pulled her from the pit. No, he must have dreamed that too. The only thing that assured him of its reality was the dull ache in his shoulders the next day and the memory of her soft, warm skin held tight beneath his calloused fingers. Still, he had to be sure.

Bellamy shook himself free of the recurrent thoughts that were plaguing his mind as he walked swiftly into the dark forest, the sun becoming just a distant memory. He chose from the many paths that wound their way through the underbrush, following the trail of fallen murdock. Fledgling sprouts grew from brown bases, reminding Bellamy of nature’s resilience, a magic beyond even the comprehension of wizards. The eerie quiet crept behind him, clinging to the very earth beneath his feet.

He shivered involuntarily and then laughed, a laugh full of forced bravado. _I’m not afraid. It’s just a forest, just a magical, dangerous forest. Nothing to fear._ Still, Bellamy quickened his steps as a sense of unease stole over him. Perhaps it was because he was alone or because he was filled with so many unanswered questions, but the silence of the forest seemed to stare back at him with sinister intent. He paused, gauging the distance, then veered off of the path. This part of the forest looked familiar.

After a hundred yards his suspicions were verified as he identified another murdock felled by his and Clarke’s hands. _Just a little further,_ he reckoned, trudging forward through the tall bracken. A minute more and Bellamy found himself once again on the brink of the blackthorn grove.

Triumph flooded him, sweet and sharp. It wasn’t a dream. This was the grove where he and Clarke had found the cave. She had fallen, but he had caught her. She had asked if they could be friends. He had said ‘yes.’ _Yes._

Bellamy glanced at the blackthorn tree dominating the center of the grove, half expecting some premonition to steal over him, but nothing happened. The blackthorn stood resolute and serious, its branches stark against the bright, uncovered sky.

Smiling, Bellamy began to turn back towards the castle, but something on the ground caught his eye. The entrance to the cave was uncovered, despite the fact that Bellamy and Clarke had replaced all of the foliage over the tunnel in the soil. Had someone else found it? Perhaps they hadn’t covered it as well as they had thought. He crept forward, wand raised. _It could just be an animal,_ he reasoned with himself. Still, his wand remained aloft as he descended the hard earthen steps.

Soft light spilled onto the bottom step. Bellamy stopped. Someone else was here. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Recklessly, he stepped out into the cavernous room, needing to see whose wand the light belonged to. Flaxen hair glinted for a moment before Clarke’s sharp blue eyes met his, freezing him in his tracks.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, before turning back to stare at the wall from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. ‘ _Oh, it’s you.’ Is that a good thing?_

“Hey,” Bellamy’s deep voice sounded loud in his own ears, echoing off the rock walls, but devoid of the surprise swirling within him. “What are you doing here?”

She glanced back at him, where he still stood by the mouth of the cave, “Same as you, I suppose. This place is fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed, not about to correct her. The cave was only part of his motivation for coming out here. Bellamy regained control of his body and came to settle down beside her. A notebook was cracked open in her lap, riddled with half-scribbled runes copied from the walls that surrounded them. She had been busy. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“That depends,” she bit her lip, scratching another couple of runes into the pages of her notebook. There was a pause and Bellamy wondered whether she had forgotten that he was even there or that she was in the middle of a sentence. Eventually she looked up at him, wisps of hair falling lightly over her face, “What time is it now?”

“Probably half past two o’clock,” he said, his eyes following the quick dance of her quill across the parchment. He stared at her as one might stare at a wild creature, a mixture of awe, appreciation, and trepidation. Clarke was different than any other girl at Hogwarts. She handled everything with the confidence of an age she did not possess and a beautiful arrogance that was both quick and sharp and then suddenly humble and unassuming.

But there was something else which drew Bellamy to her, something he could not name no matter how his conscious mind tried. A sadness clung to her, hollowing her cold, brittle exterior when no one was watching. Bellamy saw the shadow of trauma which lingered behind her in the same way that he felt it stalk through his dreams. He wondered whether Clarke could see thestrals like he could.

The quill fell still against the parchment, leaving a lull in its soft melody. Why had she stopped writing? Bellamy looked up to find her watching him, her gaze steady and questioning with a hint of annoyance.

“Here,” she ripped out a sheet of paper and tossed it at him along with a second quill. She placed the previously hidden jar of ink between the pair of them. When he didn’t move to grab the utensils, she spurred him, saying, “It’s for writing... You know, ‘My name is Bellamy Blake’? That sort of thing.” She pretended to write in the air, raising her eyebrows at him; her voice held that quick sarcasm, which was familiar territory for him.

“Really? That’s funny. We have the same name,” he grinned widely, picking up the parchment and quill.

“Ha ha, just help me write down these runes.”

It was easier said than done. Some runes were clear as day against the illuminated walls, while others were faded beyond recognition. Even the legible ones were nothing like what Professor Wallace taught in Ancient Runes. These symbols contained more curved edges, intricate knots, and small tails; they overlapped so much that it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. They worked in silence, which might have bothered some, but for Bellamy felt comfortable and easy _._

After what must have been two hours, Bellamy finally threw down his quill, flexing his cramping right hand. The dirt floor was scattered with a semi-circle of numbered pages.

“Any idea what it says?” he asked. Clarke leant forward over the parchment strewn before them and, as she did, soft blonde tendrils of hair fell to frame her face. His fingers itched to brush the hair back. Bellamy swallowed and picked up a stray rock on the floor instead.

“Some of the runes look familiar. They must be forms that pre-date the runic alphabet we study today, but…” she trailed off, shaking her head. They had only copied down maybe half of the writing on the wall.

Clarke stretched her arms overhead, sighing as her wrists made satisfying pops. Her shoulders ached from bending over for so long, but it was a good kind of ache. It made her feel productive. Her brows furrowed in mild amusement as she watched the round stone slip between Bellamy’s long fingers.

“If anyone can translate this, it’ll be Professor Wallace,” he suggested with a nod towards the scraps of scrippled parchment. Clarke smirked. She had already thought of that.

“I actually mentioned it to him after class this morning. Not the cave, of course. Just the runes. He seemed eager to help.”

“Do you think we should tell someone that we found this place? I mean it is on school proper-”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was sharp, but she softened it quickly, startled by her own determination. Her heart felt like it wanted to beat out of her throat at the thought revealing the cave. She couldn’t explain the feeling even if she tried. “I mean, don’t you want to figure out what this place is? These runes mean something and I intend to find out what. You _know_ that as soon as we tell a teacher, they won’t allow us back here. Plus, I don’t want anyone else taking the credit; I almost broke both of my legs finding this place.”

He snorted, “You’re such a Slytherin.”

“And?”

“And nothing. You’re a Slytherin. I’m a Gryffindor,” he shrugged, as if that explained everything. It was infuriating.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Clarke asked, blank faced. “Right now you’re making about as much sense as these runes.”

“Nevermind,” Bellamy shook his head, his expression unreadable. It annoyed Clarke that she couldn’t read him. Most people were a piece of cake for her, but Bellamy… well, he was goofy and boyish one minute than pensive and brooding the next and sometimes a freaking wall of stoic equanimity.

The only thing Clarke had been able to figure out was that his ambivalence had a fairly short tether which broke easily when his emotions were provoked. Not that she had been thinking about him very much. Sure, she had mulled over their last interaction, but only because she herself had acted so strange. No, that wasn’t right. She had acted so _normal_. She had even asked if he wanted to be friends. Clarke didn’t have friends, not anymore. It was like for a brief moment all the bullshit had been suspended and she had forgotten how much pain she was in, but it wasn’t because of Bellamy _. No,_ Clarke admitted to herself. _It’s this cave._

There was something magnetic about the cave despite the fact that it was dark and damp. She had dreamt about it every night this week. Always the same dream: the underground world was slowly illuminated as she found herself on its uneven, earthen floor. Her head pounded fiercely, a thrumming pulse that seemed to fill the glowing space around her, growing steadily until Clarke could not be sure whether the beat had originated from within _her_ or from the very walls of the cave itself. The runes which danced upon the rock began to shine, more clearly defined than in the waking world. A shadowed hand on her shoulder. An intake of breath. A tremor down her spine. Before she could confront the dark figure behind her, Clarke always woke. And the cave was as distant as her passing dream.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice broke through her reverie and she suddenly became aware that she was staring at him and of the weight against her shoulder, where Bellamy’s very real hand now rested. It was gone as soon as she became aware of it. Clarke fought the flush that crept upon her cheeks. Had she been staring at him this whole time? She wasn’t even thinking about him. **_He_ ** _doesn’t know that, Griffin,_ a snide voice reminded her. Clarke cleared her throat and began to gather the loose sheets of parchment that littered the floor, being careful to keep them in order. _It’s this damn cave._

“We should go,” she cleared her throat again.

Clarke felt Bellamy shift beside her as he helped to gather in the chaos around them. Reaching out for the last sheet of paper, Clarke’s hand was suddenly trapped in searing warmth. Bellamy’s own large brown hand was covering hers, the parchment trapped beneath them. Her mind went blank as she stared at their crossed limbs. Turning her head slightly, her gaze darted up to Bellamy’s mahogany eyes. His face was much closer than she had anticipated, but even up close his expression was unreadable. His dark eyes seemed to go on for miles. Why wasn’t he moving his hand? Did she want him to move his hand? _Yes. No._ God, she didn’t know -- she didn’t know anything except that if she kept staring at him something inside of her was going to burn.

Shifting her eyes away should have relieved some of the tension, but instead her gaze caught on his parted lips and she was suddenly aware of how hot the room had become. It was stifling in here. Immediately Clarke was reminded of the last time she was this close to a boy, the last time she’d been staring at someone’s lips. Warning signs started flashing in her head: _Run. Run. Run._ In an act of self preservation, Clarke ripped her hand free and eased back onto her heels. The room felt immediately cooler and her lungs filled with the sweet air she hadn’t realized they were desperate for.

It had felt like an eternity for Clarke, but her hand had only been trapped for a matter of seconds. Seemingly unfazed by their brief contact, Bellamy picked up the last sheet of parchment and, stacking it with the others, he handed her the pile.

“Friends?” His voice was deep and even, everything Clarke was not feeling. _Friends?_ Was he echoing her words? Was he laying down a line between them? Clarke could have laughed out loud at her erratic thoughts. _Lord, what is wrong with you? This cave is messing with your head. He’s not even your type. He’s too…._ Clarke didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

“Yeah, friends,” she nodded and then flashed a cavalier smile. “I thought we’d already established that.”

“Right,” he laughed, shrugging as if it was some great joke, his ambivalence still perfectly intact. Clarke got to her feet and brushed off her robes, feeling a little ridiculous. They were friends, or whatever form of that Clarke could still manage. There was no doubt in her mind that Bellamy usually went for a more… _vivacious_ type of girl. Clarke herself couldn’t even imagine… she hadn’t even thought… It was laughable, really.

As the two left the cave behind, Clarke felt her shoulders ease and she found a comfortable rhythm walking alongside Bellamy. He seemed as interested in translating the runes as she did. It was nice to have something that wasn’t school related to distract her and it didn’t hurt that she had someone to share it with. Honestly, Clarke was warming up to Bellamy. His humor balanced her sarcasm and the banter was always heavy enough that they never got to anything too personal. Clarke trusted that he wouldn’t tell anyone about the cave and, as they reached the edge of the forest, she came to the decision that Bellamy would be a good friend to have.

Dusk had fallen, casting long shadows onto the lawn from the trees overhead. Bellamy gave her a wave and jogged off, late for dinner with his sister. Clarke watched him leave, remembering his earlier words. _You’re a Slytherin. I’m a Gryffindor._ It wasn’t the first time she had heard someone talk like that. Emori and Murphy seemed to have an abhorrence for anyone outside of their house.

Clarke chose to skip dinner and instead headed down to the dungeons. She passed a few groups of students on their way to the Great Hall and was not surprised to notice that they traveled in cliques determined by house and even further by year. She wasn’t used to this kind of voluntarily alienation. Everyone at Hogwarts was so caught up in these damn houses, even the teachers. _Twenty points to Hufflepuff. Thirty points from Gryffindor._ It was inane, really. They were all students. The petty politics and cliques were enough to make Clarke’s head spin.

“Serpent’s tongue,” Clarke murmured distractedly when she reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Noise flickered along the dim passage and greeted her as she emerged into the lounge. She wasn’t really in the mood for company, but her footsteps slowed as she took in who was sitting around the fire.

“Hey,” she waved at the group. Murphy, Emori, Anya, Echo, and Ontari sat in a circle, a lethal looking bottle of amber liquid passing between them.

“Hey,” Emori motioned Clarke over, patting an open seat beside her. Clarke sat down hesitantly and murmured a quiet ‘thanks’ as the bottle of liquor was handed to her.

“What are we celebrating?” she asked, taking a swig of the alcohol which turned out to be firewhiskey.

“The end of my relationship,” Anya raised a glass full of amber liquid as if to make a toast.

“Shit,” Clarke breathed out, “I didn’t--”

“It’s fine,” Emori murmured under her breath.

“Yep, I’m a free agent.” Anya said with forced enthusiasm and took a large gulp.

“To being a free agent,” Echo raised her own glass in solidarity. The group parroted her and everyone drank.

“She was dating Bellamy’s friend right?” Clarke asked Emori under her breath.

“I wouldn’t say that name too loudly,” Emori warned wryly. “You don’t want to hear her go on about that mess and I definitely don’t want to listen to it again.”

“Okay,” Clarke nodded, biting back the question still on her lips.

“To sloughing off dead weight that holds you back.” Drink.

“To being a fucking Slytherin.” Drink.

“To freedom.” Drink.

Clarke lost count of the number of toasts as the room grew warm and her head began to buzz. The topics became increasingly vulgar and ended with most everyone laughing so hard they almost cried. Though Clarke couldn’t be sure that the sheen in Anya’s eyes was not real tears. The older girl still laughed with everyone else and her toasts were some of the most lewd.

As the hour grew late, everyone began to make their excuses. One by one they stumbled off to bed until it was only Clarke and Anya who sat before the fire. The mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey passed between them. Anya took a sip, her hand surprisingly steady, then handed the bottle to Clarke.

“Tell me something no one else knows,” Anya said softly, her champagne eyes fixed on the fire in front of them.

Clarke stiffened, but only for a moment. The firewhiskey had warmed her belly and her mind was more at peace than it had been in a while. What was one thing shared between… friends? She took a sip.

“I can’t sleep in the dark. I always leave a light on when I go to bed.”

Anya nodded, taking in what Clarke had said. Silence shifted and then Anya admitted, “I knew this was coming - the break up I mean - I just had this feeling. I knew.”

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as my mother - you know how some people say they hate their parents, but it’s really just a cry for help… well I’m terrified that I actually, truly _hate_ her.”

“You know those turkey pies that they always have in the great hall on Thursdays? I hate them. Lexa loved them and I would eat them with her, but I _fucking_ hate them.”

“They’re so dry!”

“Right? It’s terrible!”

Clarke chuckled and stretched her legs out in front so that the fire warmed her toes through her woolen socks. Her body felt heavy and supple from the drink.

“You’re really pretty when you smile,” Anya sighed and took another sip of whiskey.

“Only when I smile, huh?” Clarke retorted, the words falling out of her mouth before she had even processed them.

Anya nudged Clarke’s shoulder with her own. “Of course not, but when you smile…” the older girl’s words trailed off and Clarke couldn’t help but look to see what expression they had left on her face. Anya’s eyes met hers and the warmth of the fire seemed to sparkle in them. They were so close; their shoulders pressed side by side as they leaned against the couch. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was the alcohol or the openness, but warmth flooded her body in a way that she hadn’t felt in some time.

She gazed at the older girl; Anya’s golden skin glowed in the soft light. Clarke had never been with a girl, she’d never been with anyone before Finn… or after. There had been a few flirtations with boys at Durmstrang over the years. Nothing had ever come of it. Then her dad had died and she just fell apart. She dove into Finn’s arms without really thinking about it.

Now, with the warmth of the fire and the warmth in her bones, Clarke wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss Anya. From the look she was giving Clarke, Anya appeared to want the same thing, but…

“We… I… You’re…” Clarke mumbled, her eyes not leaving those champagne orbs.

“Free agent, remember?” Anya cracked a smile and Clarke saw that they both were vulnerable in that moment, both barely healing, both still broken in different ways. What was wrong with finding some comfort in each other? _Nothing._

Clarke’s lips tugged a little and she leaned in to brush them across Anya’s, hardly breathing. She pulled back and for a moment the brown in Anya’s eyes deepened into a different, darker pair of eyes, but the image was gone as quickly as it arose and the only thing Clarke felt was the soft press of Anya’s lips against her own and the taste of whiskey on her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, don’t kill me!! I hope you can see where all the characters are coming from even if it is a bit of a shit storm at the moment. Leave a comment and tell me what you think! Were you surprised? Did you see it coming? Let me know! Until next time Xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So it looks like this will be my last update for a bit. I’m taking off on the Camino soon and need to devote my attention to getting ready! I hope you enjoy this chapter and be assured that I will be back with the rest of the story. If you’re enjoying this fanfiction, you can follow the story here or follow me on [ Tumblr ](https://thefutureunseen.tumblr.com/) so that you get notifications when I start posting new chapters again. Thanks for all the love you've given so far <3 It means the world, seriously. 
> 
> **CW:** This chapter contains memories from Lexa’s past about childhood trauma involving homophobia and brief (very brief) physical abuse. Please be aware before reading.

Chapter 8:   
_**Slay Your Demons** _   


* * *

You got the heart of a phoenix   
So let them see you rise   
Let them know that you mean it   
Let them see you rise

You feel it burn when you're knocked down   
But let the fire be your crown   
Come on   
Go and claim your kingdom   
Then enslave all your demons   
Come on   
I know you know where you belong   
**Pheonix - Olivia Holt**

* * *

_What was I thinking?_ Clarke shifted in the unfamiliar bed, one arm thrown over her face in an attempt to shield her sensitive eyes. _Seriously, good job, Griffin. Hooking up with someone who just got out of a serious relationship may be your most brilliant self-sabotage yet._ Her stomach rolled, but Clarke couldn’t tell whether it was her unsettled mind or the lingering firewhiskey in her system that was at fault; her thoughts felt as swollen and insistent as the throbbing hangover which began to settle in. She threw a quick glance under her arm at the clock on the far wall.

“Shit,” Clarke bolted upright, one hand belatedly clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “Anya, we have to get up. _Now_.”

She gave the girl beside her a quick nudge. Anya shifted, but didn’t rise. It seemed that the older girl wasn’t going to drop her pretense of sleep even if they were late. Clarke’s blood caught fire… and not in a good way.

_Fuck,_ Clarke thought bitterly. _Does she really think I’m that stupid?_ Last night Anya had practically ‘passed out’ after they’d had sex. But Clarke knew it was an act. She’d felt the stubborn rigidity of the body next to her like a lodestone, keeping her keenly aware throughout the night that neither one of them was getting any sleep. _Fuck,_ Clarke thought again. She should have just snuck back to her bed, but she had been weak and hadn’t wanted to make things more awkward. _Damn it._

The sex had been good. It had satisfied that desperate need for intimacy which had reached its inevitable breaking point last night. But like sex with Finn, something had just been… off. As if the two of them were not tuned to the same channel. One station away. So close… but still muted by static. Clarke had stupidly thought there would be something easier, simpler, more intuitive, about being with a girl, but it was just different. And the same.

She hadn’t really recognized the disjunction with Finn until afterwards because it had been so new and such a balm against the loss of her father. Just to have someone, _anyone_. But the more she had thought about the experience, pulled it apart piece by piece, Clarke had remembered how her mind wandered, remembered the little touches which were supposed to ignite, but only left her wanting, remembered the soul-deep chill that was only warmed for the briefest instant.

It had been so easy to blame that on him, to think that _he_ had been the problem. But, it had been the same last night. The sex had been good, but that chill felt infinitely colder afterwards and Clarke could now only assume that the problem was _her._ The realization stung like the cold edge of a knife, pressing even harder between her ribs each time Anya could barely look at her.    

“Anya,” she nudged the girl firmly this time, thankful that her voice sounded as hard as she wanted to feel. “We’re going to be late for the match if you don’t get up.”

The older girl groaned - forced and fake even to Clarke - and turned over. Her brown eyes found Clarke’s and the younger Slytherin told herself that the weary regret she saw in them didn’t matter. It didn’t.

She cleared her throat, “Seriously, we have to go.”

Bending to grab her fallen shirt off the floor, Clarke tugged it on in one swift motion. Her breasts strained against the material, unsupported, but she couldn’t be bothered to put her bra on, not when she’d have to change in another ten minutes. She couldn’t even find it anyways.

Clarke stepped out of the warm bed and slipped quickly into her jeans. She’d search for her missing underwear later. When she turned, Clarke saw that Anya had rolled over once more, her back facing the dressed girl, covers pulled to her chin, not an inch closer to leaving her bed. Clarke snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Anya, get up.”

“Piss off, Griffin,” the older girl muttered into her pillow. Clarke’s hands fell to her hips.  _This is ridiculous._

“You’re seriously going to miss the first game?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just leave me alone, Clarke.”

Her teeth whined sharply as Clarke ground them together. This wasn’t her fucking problem. Except it was, because Anya was abandoning the team. Her team. _Fucking hell._ Was Clarke the only person in this damn school able to make rational decision without being clouded by emotions?

She opened her mouth to strip another layer of pride off the girl in front of her, but the words froze in her throat. If Anya was abandoning the team, it was Clarke’s fault, wasn’t it? From what little Clarke knew of Anya, this wasn’t something she did lightly or often. And Clarke had initiated everything last night. It was her fault. _Her fault_.

“Fine,” she cast the word out like a pebble, a rock from the riverbed, the only thing she had left to offer. Stalking out of the room felt better than retreating so Clarke let her feet fall heavily as she made her way to the sixth year girl’s dormitory.

Why did she bring out the worst in everyone? People seemed fucking fine until they came into contact with her. Clarke wondered if she should wear a sign around her neck: _Caution! Unwanted trouble and terrible life decisions ahead. Fuck at your own risk._ A humorless smile flattened her lips as she threw open the door to the dormitory.

The room buzzed with activity. Emori and Echo looked over from where they stood in front of the mirror, apparently in the process of braiding each other’s hair. They were both already decked out in their flying gear.

“Where have you been?” Echo asked in a tone that was far too sharp for such an early hour.

Clarke considered hexing her silent, but instead shrugged. “Nowhere.”

She stripped as if she hadn’t been naked five minutes ago and pulled on her Quidditch uniform with methodical efficiency. The leather pants fit snugly around her hips, but were surprisingly supple, and the flying vest was easy enough to lace up. Clarke strapped her feet into the calf-high boots and threw on her emerald robe.

“Want me to braid your hair?” Emori offered, coming up to lean against Clarke’s pristinely made bed. It was obvious she hadn’t slept in it.

Clarke shrugged again which seemed to be good enough consent for Emori because the Slytherin began plaiting her hair with deft fingers.

“You okay?”

Clarke flinched. “Yeah, fine. Just hungover.”

“Echo brewed some Pepper Up Potion in the bathroom. Help yourself. We need your stellar skills, Griffin.” Emori patted her head to signal she was done.

A strange tightness tried to constrict her throat so Clarke just nodded a tense smile before escaping into the bathroom. The Pepper Up Potion smelled nice which was a pleasant surprise. She drank one serving… and then two more for good measure.

By the time the girls marched into the locker room twenty minutes later, Clarke felt giddy and maybe a little high. And even though the sensation made her feel slightly out of control, at least it helped her forget about the uncomfortable morning. It even kept the smile plastered to her face when Ontari asked where Anya was.

“She’s not coming. Sick or something,” Clarke offered casually as she pulled her broom from its soft case.

“What?!” Ari Snelle, one of the Beaters, cried out. No one looked happy. No one except Clarke because she was as peppy as Pepper Up could be. Emori gave her a funny look, but said nothing.

“It’s fine,” Echo barked, motioning for the group to come together. “We know how to handle this. I’m interim Captain and Riley,” she addressed the scrawny boy beside Ontari, “it’s your lucky day. You get to sub as Keeper. But if you fuck up, I’ll skin you myself. Got it?”

The boy nodded, looking both sick and elated. Clarke snorted. She knew the feeling.

Ontari fell in step beside Clarke as the blonde headed for the pitch, “Ready to burn some Gryffindors?”

“You have no idea.”

For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Clarke didn’t give a shit about the dividing House lines. She was actually glad of the rivalry. Her blood hummed as if an IV of caffeine was attached to her side and a feral smile twisted her lips as she stalked out onto the brightly lit green. Clarke felt ready to draw blood. It was what she was good at after all.

Bellamy shielded his eyes against the sun as he squinted out at the Quidditch pitch. The stands were already packed and the hum of the crowd swirled around the stadium, calming his nerves. Bellamy hated that he was nervous. For some reason, he felt as if it was his first match, when in reality he must have played at least a hundred by now. It was ridiculous, really. Still, his stomach clenched uncomfortably as he searched the opposing team’s players.

It wasn’t hard to find Clarke amongst the sea of green. Her platinum hair shone in the sun like the silver stripes down each Slytherin players’ arm. Bellamy swallowed. She strode confidently across the field flanked by Emori and Ontari. Each stride sent her emerald robes billowing back. The movement gave Bellamy ample view of the dark leather uniform beneath. She threw her head back and her sharp laughter echoed all the way across the pitch. The sound lodged like a bullet in his chest. He was in trouble… deep, abiding trouble. The whole Gryffindor team was in trouble. Bellamy cleared his throat and shifted out of the way as some of his teammates filed out onto the field. His gaze darted back to her and found that she was looking in his direction.

“Fuck,” he muttered and spun around only to find Lexa right behind him. Her green eyes traveled past him and a lazy smile crept onto her face as she found who had flustered him.

“Are you going to be able to stay focused, Blake?”

Bellamy scoffed then fell silent as he realized her question was not rhetorical. She rarely called him Blake. His thick eyebrows bunched together.

“We’re just friends,” he growled deeply.

“You’ve said that about a million times.”

“Because it’s true,” Bellamy snapped and cringed at his defensive tone.

“Well you better not look at _me_ like that is all I’m saying.” Lexa snorted with a half-smile.

Bellamy flipped her off half-heartedly, trying to keep his eyes from sliding back to a particular blonde as he and Lexa walked onto the pitch. Professor Nyko, Hogwarts’ Flying Instructor, blew the whistle and the sound cut sharply through the hum of the stands.

Lexa veered away from the rest of the crew to shake hands with the Slytherin captain. Her pace settled into a cool predatory stalk and her chin lifted defiantly despite the dull knot which toiled in her stomach. She didn’t know what she expected to find on Anya’s face after their fight yesterday, any number of emotions flashed across her mind’s eye. But what Lexa saw before her was not at all what she had anticipated. It wasn’t Anya who stepped from the sea of green, but Echo.

The Gryffindor recovered quickly, her frown dissolving into a mask of cool indifference.

“Shake hands,” Nyko instructed to pair.

Lexa felt Echo bristle at the orders, but rules were rules. The Gryffindor captain reached out a steady hand, her strong, penetrating gaze demanding reciprocation. Echo gripped her hand tightly, squeezing painfully, but Lexa was ready and equaled her strength. She met Echo’s sneer with her favorite condescending smirk. Still for all her indifference, Lexa couldn’t keep the words inside as the Slytherin stand-in captain turned away.

“Where’s Anya?”

Echo raised a single eyebrow, “That’s not your concern anymore, is it?”

Lexa snarled softly, her teeth bared, and spun on her heel before Echo could have the satisfaction of walking away. As she stalked back to her team, the twin Bludgers and Golden Snitch were released from the crate. They zoomed away until they were no more than streaks against the bright sky and then disappeared entirely.

“Positions,” Lexa barked before Professor Nyko could even give the order. Bellamy fell into place at her side and handed her a bat.  On the whistle, both teams took to the sky.

“And they’re off, ladies and gentlemen, professors, innocent bystanders, and, of course, Gryffindor trash,” Murphy’s slow drawl echoed across the field, totally deadpan as the pitch erupted like a swarm of hornets. “The first Quidditch match of the school year. The joy is palpable. Quidditch, my friends, the only acceptable way for us to take out our aggression on each other. This week’s purge will begin in _5, 4, 3, 2, 1…._ ”

The whistle blew shrilly for the third time as the Quaffle was launched into the air and the pitch became chaos. Faster than a streak of lightning, the new Slytherin Chaser, Clarke, goddess of Bellamy’s dreams snatched the Quaffle out of the madness. It was through the lower left hoop of the Gryffindor goal posts in a matter of seconds. Lexa’s mouth went dry as admiration and rage coursed through her.

“Damnit, Roan,” she shouted down the pitch at her Keeper who looked equally stunned.

“The first goal of the match scored by the magnanimous Clarke Griffin,” Murphy stated levely. “Don’t let it go to your head. Still gotta beat those fuckers - I mean suckers.”

A breadth passed, then Gryffindor recovered as Miller drove the Quaffle down the pitch with Luna and Aden’s help. Lexa hit a Bludger at Echo and smirked as the girl was forced to swerve away from Miller to dodge the deadly ball.

“Nice hit!” Bellamy pulled short next to her and blocked the other Bludger which was sent her way by one of the vindictive Snelle twins. He shot her a grin and a question, “Where’s Anya?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa snapped, her eyes scanning the field rather than returning Bellamy’s gaze.

“You two didn’t…” His eyes widened as she finally threw him a dirty look. “You did? You broke up?”

“Not exactly,” Lexa muttered. They flew in tandem around the pitch, simultaneously watching each other’s backs as they dealt with the most dangerous balls of the game. Bellamy let out a whoop when Luna scored a goal for Gryffindor. Lexa hit a celebratory Bludger at the Slytherin Keeper for good measure. She chuckled darkly as Riley almost fell off his broom. The boy was a poor replacement for Anya.

“What do you mean ‘not exactly?’” Bellamy asked.

“Seriously? You can’t wait till--” Lexa thwacked a Bludger sending it flying at Ontari, “--after the game?” she finished.

“If you can’t--” Bellamy blocked a Bludger from taking off Miller’s head and sent it careening towards Echo instead, “--multitask, just say so!”

Lexa growled at him, “I said ‘not exactly’ because it was an accident… sort of.”

“How do you accidently break up with someone?” Bellamy snorted.  
“I said, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ I meant the conversation, but she thought I was talking about our relationship and I… I haven’t corrected her yet.”

“Did you want to break up with her?” There was no judgement in his tone, just a simple question. But it really wasn’t simple at all.

“Yes. No… I don’t know!” Lexa admitted and with a shout sent a stray Bludger away from Luna. “I can’t do relationships… too many expectations. I don’t-- I can’t…”

“If you never let anyone in, you’ll never know.”

Lexa glared at him. She bit her lip to keep from snapping back. He was one to talk about being guarded. This wasn’t about him though. Lexa focused on her breathing to keep the memories from surfacing.

From behind clenched teeth she ground out the next words, “Letting someone in means being invested and that means getting hurt and I can’t do that. Not anymore, not after--”

She shook her head, swallowing her own words. Lexa swung and her bat connected with the incoming Bludger. A small fissure raced down her bat as the dark sphere spun away from the pitch entirely. The impact reverberated down her arm and settled uncomfortably in her chest. The feeling seemed to crack open the floodgate to her memories and they poured out like a river of black blood, tainting what once had been beautiful. A girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. A year of belonging spoilt by one moment of weakness, one moment of pure, unadulterated happiness which was shattered in an instant.

It was the little things that Lexa remembered. The way her silk-like hair always seemed to fall out of those double braids no matter how many times she plaited them. The way her smile spread like sunshine across her face. The way she had said Lexa’s name like a shared secret. That was how Lexa remembered her… _Costia._

She couldn’t recall the exact curve of her lips or the distance between her eyes, but Lexa did remember that they had been extraordinarily blue. So pale that they almost looked silver at times. Those eyes that sparkled in the sunlight when Lexa had kissed her… their first kiss, their only kiss.

_The hot sun was nearly unbearable that summer; they hide from its sweltering heat inside the bunkhouse in Miriam and Bob’s backyard, belly-laughing at the naughty book which lay between them, the one Costia had discovered in her mother’s bedroom. Lexa had just turned ten; it had been the best birthday of her life._

_Lexa read the strange words aloud in a hushed voice, her smile and intonation urged on by Costia’s muffled giggles. She glanced over to see the pink flush of Costia’s cheeks and her voice suddenly frozen in her throat, trapped inside her body. Something, a feeling, Lexa didn’t quite understand stole over her as Costia leaned into her side, nudging her to continue._

_Lexa meant to continue, but when Costia didn’t pull away, the nearness of her was almost too distracting. She just stared at Lexa, their lips but a hair’s breadth apart. A giggle escaped Costia and the sound was infectious, traveling into Lexa’s own throat. Their eyes met, the air they breathed no longer separate. Then soft flesh - Costia’s lips - met hers and the sweet taste of apple juice was all that Lexa knew._

Even six years later, Lexa remembered what happened next with biting clarity, but she could no more stop the images from dancing through her mind than she was able to prevent them from occurring in the past. _Her hand reached out to brush gently against Costia’s face. She felt the girl’s cheeks spread in a wide smile beneath her warm palm, their lips still pressed together, neither sure of what was supposed to come next. Then, like lightning, Lexa was ripped away and all that sweet warmth fled. Her neck snapped back, her cheeks stinging from the impact of the blow._

_Lexa had not been small; she was lanky for a ten year old, but still she curled into herself then against the second blow, smaller and smaller until she felt that she barely existed. Even though the next blow was not physical, it was painful nonetheless._

The quivering timbre of Miriam’s voice was still seared as perfectly into Lexa’s brain today as those hateful words. _“Get away from my daughter, you disgusting child! Get out of my house. Get out! We trusted you. We trusted you!” Lexa hadn’t known what was worse - the raging anger in her foster mother’s voice or the moment when that anger had cracked and the woman started to cry. ‘We trusted you,’ she kept repeating, but Lexa didn’t know what she had done. What had she done wrong?_

_It might have been hours, or just thirty minutes; the time passed slowly as she waited for the social services car to arrive, to take her back to the orphanage. She didn’t remember exactly when Bob dumped her meager belongings next to the mailbox because she wasn’t allowed back inside. Lexa only remembered the coldness of the pavement beneath her, the shrill sound of Miriam’s favorite windchimes, and the silhouette of the girl in the upstairs’ window to whom she never got the chance to say goodbye. One kiss… that was all it took. One kiss and Lexa found herself back where she had started… with nothing and no one._

The air seemed to have been sucked from the stadium. Lexa couldn’t breathe, even when the onslaught of memories faded. She blinked her eyes against the wetness that threatened them and did a lap around the pitch trying to smooth out her twisted features. She hit a few Bludgers. Each one a cracking reminder of how she’d been hurt, of how she had hurt other people, of how she’d hurt Anya.

“She said she loves me,” Lexa admitted to Bellamy when he caught back up to her. The words burned against her mouth. They had been swirling around in her head like a fever since she heard them uttered.

“Oh,” Bellamy said, stunned, not because he was surprised, but because he knew what those words meant to her. “What did you say?”

Lexa closed her eyes, “ _I KNOW._ ” Bile rose in her throat. Warmth seared her shoulder. A light squeeze. Fleeting. Reassuring. She knew without looking that Bellamy had brushed her arm briefly.

“Nothing I say is going to make you feel better. I know you too well to believe otherwise. Still… it’s okay to be afraid. I just hope you don’t let it keep you from living. Slay your demons, Lex,” Bellamy said and she both hated and loved him for those words.

Lexa breathed deeply. She didn’t want to live her life in fear. She didn’t want to be a prisoner to it. That wasn’t her. Maybe if she could just name it then it wouldn’t haunt her anymore. Lexa hated failing, hated feeling lacking, hated not being perfect. She knew she was shit at emotions, at being open, being vulnerable. Lexa avoided those things at all cost, but she owed it to Anya, owed it to herself to try, to just _try_ . She didn’t want what happened with Costia to keep her from being happy. _Happy._ Lexa tasted the word on the tip of her tongue. It tasted faint, foreign, and uncomfortable… but truly sweet.

She opened her vivid eyes with a tight smile and spun on a dime. _THWACK._ Lexa sent the Bludger straight at the green-robed Slytherin holding the Quaffle, Clarke.

“Hey!” Bellamy slid up next to her, his face amusingly horrified at her last target.

“Oh please,” Lexa shrugged. “You fight for your girl and I’ll fight for mine.”

“She’s not _my_ girl,” Bellamy muttered and Lexa let out a laugh at his sour face. A shout went up from the other side of the pitch. Miller had been hit by a bludger from one of the Snelle twins. His lip was bleeding, but he still managed to keep a hold of his broom. Gryffindors didn’t give up that easily. A feral grin split Lexa’s face and she glanced over at Bellamy who returned her intensity.

“Blood must have blood,” she murmured, her words like a prayer and dove.

From the stands Raven watched as Trikru sought out a Bludger and sent it with a deafening crack towards Ontari. A scream split the pitch and Ontari crumpled forward onto her broom. _Fucking hell,_ Raven’s eyes widened. _That bitch is crazy._

“And once again Gryffindor gets into a pissing contest,” Murphy droned. “Ridiculous, really. We all know that Gryffindor courage is compensating for something. Big talk. Small equipment.”

“For the last time, Mr. Murphy, please stay on topic,” Headmaster Jaha reprimanded from behind the box, his voice equally magnified.  

“Absolutely, Professor… Gryffindor’s have small dicks. Is that better?”

“Murphy.”

“I only do this because you make me, Professor.”

Raven rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the game. Clarke was heading straight towards the Gryffindor goal post with the Quaffle tucked under her arm. Raven admitted begrudgingly that the girl was good at flying. More than good, really. How fucking annoying.

“C’mon Slytherin!” Jasper hollered and pounded his fists against the railing. He threw his head back and crowed his enthusiasm.  

Raven shot the traitor a dirty look. She felt Monty do the same beside her.

“Since when do you root for Slytherin?”

“Since I discovered the particular joy of watching Roan get creamed,” Jasper returned sweetly.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Raven shook her head. Clarke shot. The crowd held its breath… Roan kicked the Quaffle dead center and sent it flying away.

“Woohoo! Yeah, Roan!” Raven cheered, clapping along with the surrounding crowd. She gave Jasper a pointed look. He was staring straight at her, his expression like she’d both kicked his favorite dog and told him that contrary to popular belief, girls really did take shits.

“What?” Raven challenged, her hands going instinctively to her hips.

Jasper scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Simmer down, children,” Monty said and physically wedged himself between the two. “Plus, wasn’t it just last year that you were saying how cool Roan’s technique was, Jasper?”

Raven turned away to hide her smile. She didn’t need to see Jasper’s face to know that he was frowning.

“Why thank you, Monty,” he said dryly. “Your timing as ever… is on point.”

“I, for one,” Raven drawled leaning over the railing with a smirk, “Don’t know why you’re so focused on Roan. I’m sure Octavia is missing your usual rapt attention.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jasper pressed his lips thin. Raven and Monty shared a look.

“Uh-huh.”

“Let me know if I should be worried about competition for Roan, Jay.” Raven bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh please,” Jasper leaned his lanky frame against the railing facing her. “He couldn’t handle all of this.”  

Raven snorted and shook her head. Echo was driving the Quaffle down the field. Then Luna had it. Clarke snatched it for a moment, but Aden stole it back and then beelined for the goal posts. The shot went a little wide and Riley eased it further away from the Slytherin goal posts with the end of his broom.

Murphy’s voice crackled across the stadium, “You’re going to have to be faster than that, Aden. Maybe you should have waited a year or two to join the team.”

Raven rolled her eyes at Murphy’s annoying commentary and turned to see if Jasper had made the same gesture. He was already looking at her.

“What?” she asked, curious about the strange look on his face - like he had realized he’d left something super important at the castle, or he really needed to throw up. Raven couldn’t decide which seemed more appropriate.

“Nothing,” he shrugged and turned steadfastly back to the action of the match. His cheeks were flushed. The wind was particularly chilly today and whipped against the stands in buffets. He had probably just realized he left one of his batches of hooch sitting for too long. Or forgotten to make it airtight… was that even a thing? Raven didn’t know. Before she could go further down that rabbit hole, a shout drew her attention back to the match. Slytherin had scored another goal.

The wind was stronger than normal and it whipped Octavia’s hair into her face with a vengeance. Her cheeks stung from the assault and she wished she had succumbed to a full braid instead of the half-back she had allowed Harper to do this morning. Her sage-green eyes scanned the field in long sweeps searching for her tiny target. Above. Around. Below. Above. Around. Below. Her gaze shifted as she flew in lazy loops above the other players.

It was moments like these when Octavia wondered how she ever had the patience to be a Seeker. Her stomach tightened against the pang of envy at the Chasers speeding around below. However, then she remembered the feeling of the dive, the hunt, the adrenaline of chasing and catching the Snitch that was infinitely more rewarding than any scored goal. She held the fate of the game in her hands, the beating lifeline of the Gryffindor team. She was a panther stalking her Slytherin prey, planning the perfect moment to strike - that golden kill shot with wings.

Octavia grinned and swung a tight loop towards the other end of the field. Emori seemed clueless. She trailed behind her like a scavenger vulture. Didn’t the girl know by now that Octavia rarely left any scraps?

A groan surged from the crowd as Echo scored a goal putting Slytherin ahead by forty points. The players were getting antsy and Octavia could feel the heat of her captain’s gaze - ready for the Seeker to finish it. From the way Gryffindor was flying, Octavia knew that there would be double practice next week.

The noise from the crowd drew her attention and Octavia noticed the presence of a certain Hufflepuff. Her eyes widened in surprise. What was he doing here? Lincoln had said he didn’t like Quidditch. It was one of the few issues Octavia saw in their non-relationship relationship or whatever it was that they were to each other. Mentor and student? Friends? Was it possible that he was there to support her? From the corner of her eye, Octavia saw a flash of gold then green.

“It appears Emori has spotted the Snitch. Praise be. There is a god.” Murphy’s voice was relieved - the first emotion of the match.

“Damn it,” Octavia cursed and swung into a sharp dive after Emori. She was on the Slytherin’s tail in seconds, so close that the flap of green robes cracked near her face like a whip in the wind.

Octavia leaned forward then left and her shoulder made contact with Emori’s ribs, forcing the opposing Seeker off her warpath. Now there was nothing in between Octavia and the Snitch; its feathery wings were buzzing so fast it looked like a floating golden sphere.

Emori came back with a vengeance and rammed into Octavia, hard.

The young Blake grunted and pushed back. The Snitch launched skyward and Octavia did an about face faster than Emori. She climbed steadily into the air… thirty feet above the pitch, fifty, a hundred. The low clouds shrouded the field from view, but Octavia didn’t take her eyes off of the golden orb. Her arm stretched out. Her fingers reaching skywards. She could feel the beat of the wings against the pads of her fingers. Just a few more inches… but the Snitch had other plans. It fell like a stone and Octavia’s fingers clamped around thin air.

She leaned into the ninety degree dive without hesitation, her right arm still before her, the Snitch only a few feet below.

The clouds parted - the ground, the pitch, the players were suddenly very close and, still speeding downwards, Octavia was quickly struck by a very bad idea… a very _good,_ bad idea. Her eyes darted to the person below her, the person who would be her unlucky participant. Lexa.

Octavia crouched and her eyes met Lexa’s, gauging the distance. Did she understand? Octavia didn’t have time to communicate properly. It was now or never. Lexa’s eyes widened as she realized what Octavia intended. The captain barely had time to shake her head once before Octavia launched herself off of her broom, straight towards the Snitch and Lexa.

With her right hand, Octavia scooped the golden sphere out of the air. With her left hand, she reached for Lexa as she plummeted. With feline reflexes Lexa’s left hand shot out and clasped her forearm, swinging Octavia onto the back of her broom even as she flew downward to compensate for the Seeker’s momentum.

Octavia shouted in triumph and raised the Snitch high above her head. She felt Lexa’s grip tighten as the older girl pulled Octavia’s hand around her own waist to keep the Seeker upright. The roar from the crowd was deafening. Even the Slytherins seemed impressed and a few were openly clapping in shock.

A deep laugh ripped through Octavia’s chest even as Lexa flew them to the ground and Murphy announced Gryffindor as the victor. The adrenaline pounding through her system was pure joy.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” Lexa shot over her shoulder, but her words were half-hearted and her hand was warm against Octavia’s skin. The younger Blake just laughed again and held Lexa tighter as her heart beat furiously.

She let go of the older girl as soon as they touched down, only then, with space between them, was she aware of how firmly she’d been pressed against her captain.

Lexa cleared her throat as she turned to look at the Seeker. Octavia handed the subdued Snitch to Lexa like she was presenting a battle trophy.

The older girl smiled even as she shook her head, “Don’t pull that shit again, okay? You’re not invincible.”

Octavia opened her mouth to argue, but the bellow of her name from across the pitch distracted her. Bellamy had landed and was stalking towards the pair, her abandoned broom clutched tightly in his hand. He looked like he’d just eaten his own heart.

“I got it,” Lexa offered.

“Thanks,” Octavia said, surprised. She smiled and turned, disappearing quickly into the crowd flooding onto the field. Her feet left the ground as she was lifted overhead and carried to the locker room. She looked around at the crowd beneath her, but didn’t see Lincoln’s face. It didn’t matter. No one could take away the triumph she felt. Even if he had missed the coolest thing she would probably ever do in her life. No big deal.

The locker room was crowded, filled with more people than were actually part of the team. Too many people who couldn’t wait to talk to their friends about the match. Even a few of the Slytherins seemed to have squeezed in.

A Ravenclaw that Octavia recognized from her year was bragging to Riley. Octavia tried not to listen, but she couldn’t help it. Really. He was loud. Very loud.

“I’m telling you man,” he smirked and leaned against the locker. “Now that Trikru’s single, I’m going to show her a good time. Gonna rock her world.”

Octavia grimaced as she watched him make a vulgar gesture, thrusting his hips out. Her fist clenched dangerously. She told herself to leave it be, but her feet had other plans, taking her to stand before the Ravenclaw. She crowded his space with a snarl.

“She’s a lesbian, you dumbass,” Octavia hissed, then stepped back and looked him up and down, “You couldn’t rock her anything.”

She forced a scathing laugh out before turning away and thankfully was immediately surrounded by friends. Her hands were shaking.

Raven, Monty, and Jasper all shouted her praises. Jasper even enacted her glorious catch in great detail. She laughed along with everyone else and tried to appreciate it all, but she was distracted. A crash sounded behind them and Octavia turned to see the same Ravenclaw douche from before sprawled out on the floor. Harper bit back a smile as she sidled up to the group, side-stepping the fallen boy. Octavia didn’t miss the wand being stuffed surreptitiously into Harper’s back pocket even as the Hufflepuff congratulated her on a good game. The Gryffindor smirked knowingly and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. She knew she should just let it go… but she couldn’t. She was worried about Lexa.

When she saw her captain enter the locker room a few minutes later, Octavia excused herself and made a beeline for the Gryffindor.

“Hey,” Octavia blurted then chewed on her lip as Lexa turned slowly. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. They felt useless by her side.

“Hey?” Lexa gave her a strange look, a dismissive look.

Octavia ignored it, “You broke up with Anya.” It wasn’t a question.

Lexa glanced back towards the door of the locker room, then sighed, “It’s none of your business, Octavia.”

Octavia’s hand shot out to stop Lexa even as she made to turn away.

“You didn’t do it because-- You didn’t do it for--”

“I said it is none of your damn business.” Lexa pulled away from Octavia. Her eyes, hard, glinting.

“What’s going on?” a deep voice said beside them. _Bellamy_.

“Nothing,” Octavia swallowed the bitter taste of her anger and shouldered past him.

“Octavia! O!” he called after her, but she was already out the door. She didn’t feel like listening to one of his reprimands about danger. If it were up to him, she would never leave Gryffindor tower.

The fresh air greeted her like an old friend, soothing her slowly. She ran a hand through her hair taking it out of the half braid that was already falling apart. She considered going back in to meet up with Raven, Harper, and the boys, but instead she found her feet taking her back towards the castle.

“Hey.”

Octavia stopped short as she rounded the corner and almost ran into Lincoln.

“Oh,” she breathed out. She thought he had left. “Hi.”

“Hi… you were great out there. Really something.” His gaze was steady, but his hands were stuffed into his pockets. He shifted slightly and Octavia almost smiled. Was he shuffling his feet? He cleared his throat and she raised her eyebrows, her eyes never leaving his.

“Anyways,” he continued and scratched the back of his neck, “I just wanted to find you to say that we should probably study tonight.”

“Right,” Octavia’s smile fell.

“Yeah, you have a test tomorrow and you’re not ready,” he explained. As if she didn’t remember the Potions exam.

“Can we go back to you complimenting me?” Octavia asked dryly.

“I being serious, Octavia.”

“Thank you for the clarification,” she said looking him dead in the eyes. “I never would have guessed.”

A pause. Silence.

“I’ll see you at eight then.”

“Great, it’s a date--” she coughed, blushing, “I mean, it’s a non-date date, obviously… It’s just a figure of speech.”

Her cheeks were on fire, but Octavia forced her gaze back to him, only to see that he was already walking away.

“Damn it,” Octavia muttered, pinching her eyes closed. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? _Splendid._ Non-date date? _Smooth. Well, fuck me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the Quidditch match? Thoughts? Feelings? I really hope that this chapter helps everyone understand why Lexa is so guarded and has trouble being vulnerable. None of these guys have had easy lives before coming to Hogwarts, but Lexa’s is really rough for me to write about. Dealing with homophobia from people you trust, especially family, is so harmful and, unfortunately, a reality for a lot of us in the LGBT community. I hope that none of you lovely people have had such an extreme experience as Lexa has in this story. You are all perfect the way you are and no one has any right to tell you otherwise. 
> 
> Thank you guys again for all the love you give this story! I hope the hiatus isn’t too long. If you want to be notified when I start posting chapters again you can either follow this story or follow me on [ Tumblr ](https://thefutureunseen.tumblr.com/). Whatever is easier for you! Until next time Xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the eons that have passed since the last update. My life has been pretty crazy! As most of you know, I walked the Camino de Santiago in April. Seven hundred and ninety kilometers across the north of Spain. I was walking for a month! It was such an amazing experience <3
> 
> I wanted to get another update out so that you guys don’t think I’ve given up on this story. I haven’t! I actually have the entire thing planned out and it is just about sitting down to write it. With that said... 
> 
> I won’t have a home base to write from until my visa expires. Because of this, I won’t be able to update consistently until I’m settled back in the States in July. If you want to receive updates when new chapters are posted, you can follow me on Tumblr. I’ve got a lot of exciting things planned as a reward for all your patience! Look out for those surprises in early July :) Until then, here’s chapter nine!

Chapter 9:   
**_An Invisible Heart_ **

* * *

And promise me this  
You'll wait for me only   
Scared of the lonely arms   
Surface, far below these birds  
And maybe, just maybe I'll come home  
Who am I, darling to you?  
Who am I?   
To tell you stories of mine   
Who am I?   
**Promise - Ben Howard**

* * *

Raven tapped her pen against the blank parchment in front of her. A few dots of ink scattered across the paper and mared its pristine surface. A sigh escaped her lips, but still no words took shape on the page.

“Eat, Raven,” Monty’s voice pulled her from the trance into which she had fallen.

“What?” For the first time this morning, she took in the others sitting at the Ravenclaw table. She gave a cursory glance to the cinnamon oatmeal next to her, which had long since cooled to an inedible temperature.

“Food. You know, the stuff you chew and swallow?” Monty pantomimed eating. Raven waved away his serious expression.

“I need to finish this analysis. As you can tell I haven’t gotten very far,” she indicated the ink splotched paper in front of them.

“While I’m all for procrastinating, Monty is right.” Jasper pushed the oatmeal at her.

“It’s cold,” she said dismissively, not intending to be rude. There was something pulling at the back of her mind - the perfect sentence to begin this report.  The words were almost formed…

Jasper pointed his wand at her bowl, “ _Recalfacio_.” Steam rose from the hot cereal, taking with it the words from Raven’s head. She pinched her eyes closed as if to hold them in… but, no, the words were gone. The brunette let out an annoyed huff.

“Fine,” Raven grumbled and pulled the oatmeal closer. She shoveled a warm spoonful into her mouth. “Happy?” She didn’t bother to swallow.

Jasper grinned, “Delighted.”

She rolled her eyes, but the gesture was half-hearted. Her friends knew her too well. When she was focused on something, it took one hundred percent of her attention. Now that her mind was on food, Raven realized she was ravenous; the oatmeal tasted sweet and sticky and completely delicious. She moaned and took another bite almost burning her tongue in her haste.

After a few more bites, Raven looked up to glare at Jasper’s satisfied smirk. He winked and grabbed the blank parchment in front of her, dragging the paper to his side of the table.

“Now,” Jasper cleared his throat, “What is this paper on? I’ll write. You eat.” He pointed Raven’s own pen at her in mock sternness.

Oatmeal almost fell out of Raven’s mouth as she stared at her friend.

“Close your mouth, Reyes. I’ve been known to do homework on occasion.” Jasper materialized glasses and placed them low on the bridge of his nose. “Now... subject?”

She swallowed, “The differences in primitive dwellings of ancient wizards and how it affected their social structure.”

To Jasper’s credit, he didn’t flinch; the Ravenclaw boy cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and hunkered down over the sheet of parchment.

“Jasper,” Raven laughed, “You’re not even in the class!”

He ignored her and began to dictate to himself, “The differences in the primitive dwellings of ancient wizards can best be described through sesquipedalian or circumlocutory analysis.”

“What?” Raven shook her head, biting back a smile.

“Sesquipedalian,” Jasper repeated himself as he looked at her over the rims of his spectacles.

“You realize that makes _no_ sense right?”

Monty interjected, “Sesquipedalian means--”

“Meaning is unimportant,” Jasper waved his hand confidently. “Use erroneously large words. Professors are lazy. Trust me. They’ll give you a passing grade and not bother to read your ridiculous paper.”

Raven stared at him, “You’re crazy. That can’t possibly work.”

“It does,” Jasper was adamant. “Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes…”

“No! Jasper!” Raven grabbed the paper from him, laughing, “I’m going to have to rewrite it anyways. I’ll just head to the library now. I have a free period.”

“Oh, me too,” Jasper jumped up with her. “I’ll come with you.”

Raven shook her head, “You’re just going to distract me.”

“When have I ever distracted you?” Jasper pretended to take offense. Raven’s eyebrows darted up, but the boy simply skipped forward, grinning.

The halls were near empty and it took them no time to travel between the Great Hall and the third floor entrance to the library. When they had rounded the corner, Jasper sped up and opened the door for Raven. She gave him a funny look.

“I can open the door, you know?”

“I wouldn’t want it to distract you,” Jasper whispered as they entered the stalls, placing a hand to his heart in a show of sincerity.

Raven snorted, shoving him in retaliation. They sat down at the first available table and Raven wasted no time in laying out her materials before her; she needed to buckle down and write this report.

“Damn it,” she cursed as she saw what was missing. “I left my History of Magic book in the Hall. I’ll be right back.”

“No, no,” Jasper jumped up, “I’ll get it. Five minutes!”

Before Raven could refuse, he was gone. The wooden door swung erratically in his wake and Madam Tsing was on the wayward object in seconds. Raven watched the progress of the wizened woman across the room as she retreated back to the circulation desk. The Ravenclaw’s eyes caught midway on a certain Gryffindor sitting across the room.

Roan flashed her a smile. Raven forced herself to glare back despite the fluttering in her stomach. She cleared her throat and drug her gaze back down to the still blank parchment in front of her. She should have had this paper finished ages ago. She should have at least started it last night; however, Raven wasn’t about to tell Jasper or any of her friends _why_ she was behind in her homework. They didn’t need to know the reason was a particularly handsome seventh year. When she had decided Roan would make a good distraction from all the drama with Finn, Raven hadn’t anticipated just _how_ good he would be at distracting her.

It seemed he was doing his job too well, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be bothered - not when warmth suffused her body at the thought of his large hands running through her hair or the memory of his warm lips searching hungrily against her bare skin. In fact, Raven had barely found the willpower to push him back last night when they were alone in the empty Transfigurations classroom. Somehow, through the heavy breathing, the heat of his gaze and their forehead pressed flush, she had. Her gut was telling her to take it slow and Raven always listened to her gut. It rarely led her astray.

The familiar heat of his gaze still lingered on her, but Raven didn’t know if it was real or simply from the rush of her memory. She decided to determine which was true… for science, of course. Her gaze rose from the parchment and she found Roan still smiling at her from across the library. His tall form stretched out lazily in his chair as if he was simply enjoying the view. His boyish smile tugged one onto her own face. As soon as her lips turned up, the Gryffindor sprung to his feet and stalked towards her with purpose.

“No,” Raven put out her hand as he attempted to sit down at her table. “No, I have homework to do.”

Roan raised his hands innocently. He abandoned the chair, but circled around the table to stand behind her. “What class?”

“History of Magic,” she stated, twisting slightly to look at him. The full intensity of his slate blue eyes fell on her face.

“I could help,” his voice was dangerously soft.

“I don’t need help.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you did.” A wry smile tugged at his lips, “I took the class last year. I could give you a few… pointers.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” His gaze drifted down her face, lingering on her lips, before dipping to the blank parchment on the desk and back up to her tawny brown irises, “...at least to get you started.”

Raven’s hand slid over the paper on the desk and her eyes narrowed, holding his steadily. She didn’t know when he had leaned down, but his face was extremely close to hers and their lips only inches apart. Her eyes darted down of their own accord. Roan smirked at the direction of her gaze and suddenly she wanted to punch him. Raven opened her mouth to tell him so, but a throat cleared loudly, breaking the moment and the tension like a fragile carton of eggs.

Jasper stood with her book held casually in his hands. He looked completely at ease, leaning slightly to one side, but his knuckles were white against the book’s dark leather surface. Raven bit back any embarrassment. She knew Jasper didn’t approve of her choice of distraction, but she sure as hell didn’t need his permission.

“Azgeda,” Jasper nodded lazily at Roan.

“Jordan,” the Gryffindor straightened behind her chair, his hands resting on the back. The tension increased tenfold and Raven nearly choked on it. _This is a disaster._

“Thanks, Jasper,” she offered trying to distract him and break whatever staring contest in which the boys were engaged. It worked. Her housemate handed the book across the table.

“Ah, Mandagle’s _Evolution of Magic_ ,” Roan leaned over her shoulder to read the title. “He’s a self-righteous prick, but there is some decent information after chapter ten. Should help with your report.”

“He took the class last year,” Raven shrugged at Jasper’s tight expression.

“Not only that, but I got top marks on all my essays.”

Jasper’s lips twitched and Raven knew he was keeping himself from making a snarky comment. Honestly, if she wasn’t so distracted by the weirdness that had erupted between the three of them, she might have made her own.

“Well,” her friend exhaled, “I’ll see you later then.” His pointed look was not lost on her.

“You don’t have to--”

“Later, Jordan,” Roan called after his retreating form. Jasper gave a half-wave over his shoulder without looking back.

Raven glared at the Gryffindor as he took a seat beside her, “You’re such an ass.”

“One of my many charms,” he said without pause. “You know he’s into you, right?”

“What? Jasper?” Raven spluttered and then barked out a laugh that turned into a snort.

“Yeah. Jasper. He’s got it bad for you.”

Raven shook her head and smiled at the ridiculousness of the comment. She’d have to tell Jasper about it later. “No, Roan, he just really, really, doesn’t like _you._ ”

“Okay.”

“No, seriously. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay.”

“Are you going to help me with this report or just annoy me?” Raven glared at him, her face becoming flushed and uncomfortably warm. Roan laughed and pulled her book towards him.

Four floors below, Octavia bounced her legs in a ragged rhythm against the underside of the table. She tapped the wood with her fingers, then realized what she was doing and balled her hands into fists. Her eyes never left Professor Griffin’s figure as the older woman circulated around the room.

The Potions professor handed back sheets of paper; the receival of the test from the day before was varied - elated whoops, groans of disappointment, sometimes abject silence. Octavia didn’t know which response was worse. Still, she catalogued each in her head and tried to predict what her own outcome would be. The test hadn’t been awful, but there were too many answers of which she had been unsure to give her any real confidence in her prediction. She wanted to do well. She _needed_ to do well.

The air became thin as the professor approached her table. Harper’s sigh hit Octavia like a physical blow. If Harper wasn’t happy… Octavia had failed. She knew it. That question about the physical and metaphysical properties of dragon’s blood had been worth too many points. Oh god, she had definitely failed.

“Ms. Blake,” Professor Griffin stood in front of her, a sheet of paper held out between them. Octavia’s hands felt leaden, dead. “Well done.”

Her jade eyes flew up to her professor’s. _Well done._ A small smile hid at the corner of the older woman’s mouth. Octavia’s hands darted out and clamped around the parchment. She turned it over. Big red letters at the top of the page read ‘ _87/100’_ and below in the professor’s smaller, slanted writing, ‘ _Worth an E on your OWLs, Ms. Blake._ ’

Sweet relief flooded Octavia so fast that her head spun, then the sharp taste of triumph eclipsed it. She was almost giddy. Every part of her body tingled. _I did it,_ she thought and felt pride swell within her. She had not only passed the test, but she’d done well. Better than well…

“Thanks, Professor,” Octavia choked out and then laughed breathlessly and leaned back against her chair as the teacher continued to the next student.

Energy bubbled under her skin making every cell in her body hum with satisfaction. Then a thought hit her. There was someone else that would be just as excited to hear about her success: _Lincoln._ She couldn’t wait to share it with him.

Octavia shoved her things into her rucksack faster than she thought possible and was out of the door in under a minute, even though the class had yet to be officially dismissed. She didn’t care. Her body was buzzing, her steps light.

She had no idea where Lincoln would be - perhaps the library, perhaps already at lunch - she didn’t care, she would find him. She could already picture the expression that would wash over his face when she told him. His stoicism would still win, but there would be a warmth in his eyes, a restrained pride - the same expression she’d come to recognize each time she surprised him with what she knew, the same expression she’d come to crave.

Octavia didn’t have to look for her tutor for long; almost as if the universe was willing it to be so. She caught sight of him on the first floor as soon as she entered the corridor. Her heart leapt and she all but sprinted down the hall towards him.

“Lincoln,” she breathed out when she reached him. Impulsively, she grabbed his hand and lead him further down the corridor, shouting a quick ‘he’ll only be a moment’ to the person with whom he’d been speaking.

The first classroom she dragged him into was undoubtedly occupied. Octavia laughed her apology and pushed Lincoln back out the way they had come, her fingers wound around his large hand. They stumbled across the hallway into a small study room that was mercifully empty.

“What are you doing, Octavia?” Lincoln’s stern voice resonated behind her as soon as they entered the room. He extricated his hand from her grip carefully, not unkindly, but Octavia noted the mild annoyance in his tone. She bit her lip and turned to face him. Her green eyes sparkled and her mouth pulled into a wicked grin, but she remained mute. Her mind had been so loud and now it just hummed peacefully, happily. She swallowed and shoved the test against his chest. Her stomach ached and Octavia suddenly recognized she was self conscious. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one with which she was familiar. Twisting her hands together, Octavia turned away as Lincoln flipped over the paper.

“Is this your potion’s test?”

She nodded, pacing.

“Eighty-seven? Wow, Octavia, that’s incredible!” his voice washed over her.

She spun around, “Isn’t it?”

“Good job,” he smiled at her.

She returned his warmth and took a step forward, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yes, you could,” he placed his hands on her arms. “This is your win, O.”

Octavia’s breath caught in her throat at the nickname. No one had ever called her ‘O’ except for Bellamy. Not even Lexa. Her chest felt suddenly tight. She laughed, stomach fluttering at the steadiness of his dark gaze.

“I can’t believe I did it,” she admitted and smiled from ear to ear. “I _hate_ potions. Ha! Potions hates me. I just--”

“I can,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I can believe it.”

Without thinking, Octavia threw her arms over Lincoln’s shoulders and hugged him. Her throat painfully tight, but she refused the tears that threatened to come. Instead, she turned her face into his warm neck and whispered, “ _Thank you._ ”

His body tensed beneath her and, for a moment, Octavia thought he was going to push her away. But he didn’t. His strong arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her against him firmly. Octavia knew it was just a hug, but she let her eyes drift close and for a few seconds allowed herself to pretend it was more. She wanted to stay like this forever. Wrapped around him. Warm. Safe. Wanted. She breathed out slowly. She knew she should be the one to put distance between them, to respect the boundaries he’d drawn. She gathered her resolve like a shield, ready to step away… until Lincoln did something that made her heart stop.

His face turned with excruciating slowness into her long hair and his breath rattled in sharply. A shiver ran down her spine. Had Octavia imagined that? No, he had all but buried his face in her hair. Even now she could feel his warm breath on her neck. She made to pull back, to understand what this was, but his muscles twitched at her retreat and he tightened his arms around her. Octavia gasped softly and her stomach dropped.

With their bodies flush together, she could feel the erratic beating of his heart against her breasts. He must have been able to feel hers as well. Every place where their bodies touched burned with the most glorious heat. She needed more. The expanse of brown skin that emerged from his collar was calling to her. If she shifted slightly she would be able to kiss him right there. As soon as the thought took shape in her mind it lodged itself there permanently. She needed to taste him, to know that this moment was real. Octavia tilted her head down.

A groan escaped him and his body shuddered beneath her as her lips grazed against his sensitive skin.

“Octavia,” his voice was strangled, barely formed and she could feel the conflict of his mind and heart as if he could both push her away and pull her closer. His body, however, knew exactly what it wanted and as if in confirmation his arms tightened around her until she could feel every ridge of his jeans, every fold in his jumper, every angle of his body.

She turned further into him, kissing along his jawline. One of her hands cradled the back of his head and her fingers tingled against the smoothness of his scalp. His breathing rattled harshly against her ear, yet Octavia could barely force herself to exhale, afraid to shatter the moment with even one fragile breath. Her lips came to the end of his jaw and paused. There was nowhere else to go. She had come to the inevitable.

Octavia pulled back; her green eyes found his dark brown ones. She pressed her forehead to his, bringing her lips closer, but not daring to touch. Lincoln’s gaze darted down then back up.

“Lincoln,” she breathed out, an unspoken invitation. She could close the space between them, but he had to be the one to do it. This she knew.

His brow furrowed against hers, his eyes tracing her face as if searching for a reason to pull away or to come closer. Whatever he found there, Octavia couldn’t say, but it was enough and in an instant he had bridged the distance to press his mouth against hers. She gasped into his kiss as surprise and elation filled her. The sound had barely escaped when it caught half-formed in her throat as Lincoln lifted her off the ground. Octavia instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing every inch of her body against him even as she kissed him desperately.

Lincoln carried her forwards until her back hit something solid and she found herself pinned between him and the wall. Octavia moaned into his mouth as his hands traced along her arms and pulled them overhead. His fingers entwined through hers, holding them against the wall behind them.

His tongue traced her bottom lip and Octavia could taste the mint of his toothpaste on her lips. Lincoln’s mouth fused to hers and she felt his desperation as her own and the need to be even closer consumed her.

Voices floated down the corridor outside, but Octavia ignored them. One hand slipped out of his grip and she pulled him harder against her.

_“Are you going to do it today?”_ The voices outside the room were suddenly clear. Too clear.

_“Nah, I’ll put off my humiliation until later.”_

Octavia froze, her head yanking back. She would recognize her brother’s voice anywhere. Bellamy’s _and_ Lexa’s. Her stomach fell and she felt herself pull back from Lincoln.

“Octav--” Her hand flew to his mouth, stifling her name from his lips before anyone outside might hear it. The voices were clear as day now and only thin wood separated them.

Octavia’s feet hit the floor as Lincoln extracted himself from her grasp, confusion written on his face.

“I should go,” he said quietly. She shook her head. She wanted to tell him to stay, but she couldn’t say that, or anything. Not until they passed. They would recognize her voice. They would ruin this.

She shook her head again and made to reach for him, but Lincoln was already twisting the doorknob and then slipping through it. Octavia closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall. _Damn it._

Bellamy’s head snapped to the left as the door next to him opened. An older guy appeared, looking slightly disheveled with his yellow tie askew. Bellamy didn’t recognize him, but he could guess what he had been doing. He bit back a smirk as the Hufflepuff gave him a nod and walked off stiffly. Bellamy turned back to Lexa. She hadn’t even bothered hiding the knowing grin on her face.  

“I still think you should ask her the next time you see her,” Lexa said as they continued down the corridor away from Indra’s office. Ten minutes ago, Bellamy had been bemoaning that the Prefects’ meeting would never end, but now he found himself wishing they were still with their Head of House.

“Like I said, I prefer to avoid that particular embarrassment,” Bellamy muttered.

“You don’t know that she’ll say ‘no’.”

“I don’t know if she’ll say ‘yes’ either.”

“That is generally the point of asking someone, Bell,” Lexa pointed out as if he didn’t already know that. Bellamy was tired of talking about himself; it always made him uncomfortable.

“What about you, huh? Have you decided what to do about Anya?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded as they rounded the corner and began to descend the stairs.

“And?”

“I’m going to talk to her.”

“That’s good… it is good, right?” Bellamy’s eyes appraised the reaction of his best friend.

Lexa chuckled, “Yeah, it’s good. You are the one who told me to slay my demons, face my fears, remember?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bellamy smiled at her quoting him... even if it _was_ slightly mocking, “As long as it’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Good.”

They reached the bottom of the grand staircase just as a particular blonde emerged from the dining hall. Clarke caught sight of the pair and approached with purposeful strides. Both Gryffindors couldn’t help but stare.

“You’re right. There is a certain… _something_ about her,” Lexa said in a hushed voice to him.

“I know,” was all Bellamy could manage with Clarke making a beeline for him. His Adam’s apple bobbed dramatically.

“Ask her,” Lexa said pointedly and clapped him on the shoulder before she took off. Bellamy didn’t see what expression Lexa gave Clarke as she passed the girl. His mind pictured those arched brows raising ever so slightly in passing, but, of course, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, Clarke was distracted and Bellamy forced his body to remember how to breathe properly without the heat of her scrutiny.

“Hey,” he greeted when she drew up in front of him. Clarke’s gaze trailed after the retreating figure of his best friend and Bellamy had to say her name more than once to bring the Slytherin back to the present.

“Clarke?”

Her head swiveled around and she took him in.

“What’s up?” He prompted and thanked whatever gods were listening that his voice was steadier than he felt. Just her presence made him nervous. Could she tell how much time he spent thinking about her just from his dazed expression? When her blue eyes pierced him, he felt sure she could see every daydream and every depraved fantasy he had ever imagined.

“Hey,” she returned his earlier greeting. “I’m going back to the cave if you want to come.”

“Right now?” the surprise was evident in his voice.

“Yes. Right now. Are you busy?”

“No,” he responded, then flushed at his obvious eagerness. “I mean, I could rearrange my schedule.”

She gave him an amused look, “If you don’t mind.”

He smiled. Clarke shook her head with a sharp laugh. “Come on, Bellamy.”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name falling from her lips. He jogged to catch up with her.

“Did you talk to Professor Wallace?”

She nodded, “I left a sample of the runes with him. Though he wasn’t too happy about my inability to answer any of his questions about their origins.”

“What _did_ you tell him,” he asked curiously.

“Just that it was a project I had started right before leaving Durmstrang and that I was hoping to continue it.”

“That’s smart…” Bellamy admitted, then spoke again as the thought occurred to him, “But what if he contacts your professor at Durmstrang? You know... the one who is supposed to have helped you?”

“He won’t do that,” Clarke said, her eyes more steel the sky in that moment.

“But if he--”

“He won’t,” Clarke repeated without looking at Bellamy, “because I told him the professor was my dad.”   

Bellamy almost tripped over a branch as his head whipped towards her. He cringed at his own awkwardness and forced his head back to center. _She doesn’t want to feel pitied, man._

“Your expression is only slightly better than Wallace’s was,” Clarke told him when she glanced over.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat and tried to wipe his features clean of whatever expression they held. “Sorry,” he repeated, unsure of whether he was apologizing for his lack of tact or for her father’s death.

She shrugged, “Don’t sweat it, Blake.”

They entered the forest and walked the path to the cave with little difficulty, both familiar with the route by now. Bellamy noted that the trees seemed less sinister with Clarke by his side. Perhaps it was simply that he was distracted.

He constantly searched for excuses to look at her. When the conversation lulled he asked her a question, addicted to the high he felt for those brief moments that their eyes connected. Her blue would flash to his brown for a second and his stomach would tighten; he felt like he was falling in those moments, but to where he did not know.

“If we stay a few hours, we should be able to copy down the rest of the runes,” Clarke observed as they settled onto the earthen floor of the cave. Bellamy watched as she pulled out ink and quill. He made a conscious effort to sit a reasonable distance from her, unsure what his body would have done without the rational judgment of his head. He pulled out his own parchment and writing utensils and began to work. He tried to forget that Clarke was sitting only a few feet from him. He tried to forget that his heart rate had been elevated for a dangerously long amount of time and showed no signs of normalizing. He tried to forget that his bag was stuffed full of parchment - more than he would ever need for class - just in case this very scenario occurred.

“What if we translate this and it turns out to be some pervy old wizard’s amateur erotica that he wrote when he was bored.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. When Clarke only stared at him, Bellamy felt his skin begin to grow hot. He coughed, anything to break the silence.

A soft snort sounded next to him. Then a heartier chuckle fell from her lips, “What, some ancient wizarding kama sutra?”

“Exactly,” Bellamy chuckled. His quill slipped and the line he was drawing looked more like a curve. He crumbled the sheet and laid down a new piece of parchment. _It’s not like you don’t have enough._

“Then,” Clarke said easily, “ _you_ can take all the credit for finding this place.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and they fell silent again. The sound of quills against parchment created a background hum that should have been comforting, but Bellamy’s stomach would not stop churning. He had a question. He wanted to ask this question. His mind provided a million scenarios on what would follow, on what her response would be. But the truth was that he had no idea how she would receive it and that terrified him. He - Bellamy Blake - was terrified. It was both humiliating and exhilarating to care this much, even if it was only visible inside his own heart.

After giving Lexa a pep talk about slaying demons and not living in fear, Bellamy had decided that the next time he saw Clarke, he would just say it. Just say how he felt, how much he liked her… but now that he was here, his throat felt thick and scratchy, his heart raced, and his resolve melted.

Thoughts boiled in his head until his mouth felt dry and his tongue felt heavy and he realized that his quill had dripped ink all over the page and ruined his last drawing. He glanced over and saw that Clarke had already filled three pages with scribbled runes. He flushed and drew a breath. _Just say it._

“Clarke, I really like--” his voice froze as her blue eyes found his. He cleared his throat, swallowed, “I like… that rune.” Her brows furrowed. Those blue eyes fell to the page where he pointed and then rose back to his.

“You like that rune,” she repeated.

“Yes,” his face felt uncomfortably hot, “It’s interesting.”

She shrugged and turned back to the page she was working on. _Try again, Blake._ What was wrong with him? He never had this much trouble with girls. Ever.

“So, um,” Bellamy started again. This time keeping his eyes on his page so that he didn’t falter. He pretended to perfect a part of a rune that he had copied twenty minutes ago. “Hogsmeade is open to students next weekend…”

There was a pause then her voice cut through the air, “Is that a question?”

Bellamy chuckled, “Oh, no. I thought maybe it would be fun if we went together. You know, get a butterbeer or something…”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what she had been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. She looked over at the tall boy beside her. His walnut brown eyes were fixed on her, waiting.

“Oh,” she breathed out, but it wasn’t Bellamy’s face that swam before her. It was Finn’s. His boyish half-grin goofy and light. What had he asked her exactly? Had he said ‘ _do you want to grab a drink?’_ or had it simply been a statement - ‘ _we should grab a drink.’_ Clarke couldn’t recall, but it was suddenly so important that she remember. Which one had he said? Which one?

She blinked and this time it wasn’t Finn that stared back, but Bellamy with those beautiful, innocent eyes gazing at her, expectantly. Her heart clenched and it was the weight of those expectations that constricted it. What if she said yes? What if they went for a drink? What if he realized how small, how damaged she really was on the inside? What if he left like everyone else? She didn’t need her small circle of friends to get any smaller. It had already taken a hit with Anya last week. That evening was supposed to have been fun and easy. Clarke hadn’t wanted anything to come of it, but she definitely didn’t expect for Anya to systematically avoid her. And Clarke couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. _See,_ she reminded herself, _expectations ruin everything._ Clarke swallowed, hard, and looked down at the incomplete page before her.

“Yeah, sounds like fun,” she forced her voice to sounds light, “We should, um, get a group together.” Clarke winced as she said the last part, thankful she didn’t have to see whatever emotion passed over his face. She bent down to scribble another rune. The scratch of her quill seemed to echo through the cave and it sounded almost as loud as the thumping of her heart. _Why did you have to ask?_ She thought - frustrated with him, frustrated with herself.

“Yeah,” Bellamy’s deep voice resounded through the cavern, washing over her in waves, “Yeah, let’s get a group together.”

If he was upset, he did a good job of not showing it. Clarke released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She felt the mood shift instantly.

Bellamy gave her a playful nudge, “You need more friends anyways.”

“I have friends!” She protested.

“More non-Slytherin friends.”

“ _I’m_ a Slytherin,” Clarke pretended to be indignant, but it was half-assed because she was smiling, relieved.

“We can’t all be exceptional, princess.” His tone was so sincere that it took Clarke by surprise, but when she looked over he simply smirked and went back to scribbling down the runes.

A lump formed in Clarke’s throat as she watched him, his lanky form bent over, silhouetted in the low light. A bubble of regret threatened to pop within her, but she shoved it down with practiced resolve. Even with her rogue emotions under tight lock, Clarke found her gaze lingering on his profile and the way it cast shadows on the far wall for the remainder of the afternoon.

It was half past seven by the time Lexa finally made her way to the Slytherin common room. An inconvenient time really because it was unlikely that anyone would be there. Everyone was at dinner… well everyone except for her. Lexa figured if she skipped dinner and waited outside the entrance to the dungeons, she was bound to cross paths with Anya. The older girl had been avoiding her, not that Lexa could find fault with that. Still, it had provided a challenge in orchestrating this meet-cute.

Her last argument with Anya had been playing on a loop in her head for the past week, a constant reminder of her issues with intimacy and all the ways she had been a terrible girlfriend. It was like a crack in a floodgate; that tiny fissure allowed every little mistake, every incidence where she’d let her fear or trust issues control her life come back to voice grievances, a chorus of memories that wanted their time in the sun, wanted to be rehashed like opening an old sore.

How many people had she shut out or run away from for fear of being hurt? How many times had she used sarcasm and bitterness to avoid expressing any genuine emotion. She was tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of hiding behind her carefully constructed fortress. She didn’t know if she loved Anya, but she loved when they were together. She loved that Anya laughed when Lexa was a bit of a dick. She loved the way Anya smiled when they kissed. She loved how she had found herself in a long-term relationship without even realizing it because Anya was that easy going... or had been before Lexa fucked it up. It had been so effortless before. She wanted that again. This time she was willing to make some compromises, willing to be vulnerable.

The sconces on the wall flickered with each length Lexa stalked. Back and forth, she paced as she mulled over the right words to say. The monstrous, stone face materialized for the fifth time and then hissed upon seeing it was still only her and retreated. Lexa rolled her eyes, but was distracted by the appearance of Emori and Murphy at the top of the corridor. They walked hand in hand, heads bent together. Lexa’s stomach clenched and she cleared her throat. They moved apart, barely, but Emori gave a shout back up the hall.

“Someone’s here for you, Anya.”

The couple brushed by Lexa just as Anya rounded the corner. The older girl still seemed surprised to see her despite the warning. Lexa wondered briefly who else she might have been expecting.

“Hey,” Lexa gave the Slytherin a sheepish smile, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do. Anya’s shock transformed into frustration and she made to walk by the Gryffindor.

“Wait, Anya,” Lexa put up her hand to stop the brunette. “ _Please_.”

“Why are you here, Lexa?” she asked and crossed her arms over her chest. Lexa knew that gesture. It was defensive, hurt. God, she’d fucked up.

“To apologize.”

“Oh?”

Lexa took a breath and stepped forward, speaking slowly, “I’m sorry for avoiding you. I’m sorry for letting my fears get between us and for not trusting you with them. I’m sorry for not being open when you said you loved me. Most of all, I’m sorry for making you feel unwanted. I want you. All of you.”

Each apology brought Lexa one step closer to Anya until she was only inches away. The older girl’s lips trembled and a few tears escaped her champagne eyes even though she tried to blink them away.

“Lexa--” she breathed out, shaking her head. Panic filled the Gryffindor so she rushed on, needing to say all that she had come to say.

“I know that I have a hard time opening up, but if you can just be patient with me, I _promise_ to try my best to be open and honest with you about how I am feeling.”

“Lexa, I can’t-- You have to know--” Tears now streamed down Anya’s face and her eyes looked pained. The older girl gripped herself tightly around the waist and made to turn away, but the Gryffindor stopped her.

“Hey, hey,” Lexa rubbed her hands gingerly up and down the girl’s back, trying to comfort. “I promise this time will be different. Here. See? It’s a fresh start.” She pried one of Anya’s hands away from her side and shook it with her own. “I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet you.”

Anya half laughed, shaking her head again - her eyes still glassy with tears.

“What’s your name?” Lexa squeezed her hand, stepping closer. “I’m sure we’ve met before.”

“Okay, okay,” Anya snorted softly at Lexa’s expectant expression, “I’m Anya.”

“That’s better.” Lexa murmured and wiped the tears from her girlfriend’s face with her thumbs. She placed a kiss on Anya’s forehead and drew her into a hug. Warmth filled the Gryffindor as Anya’s arms wrapped around her; for a moment, the feeling of being held overwhelmed Lexa. It took her breath away. The words tried to catch in her throat but she forced them out. This time was going to be different. She had promised.

“I missed you,” Lexa admitted, pulling the Slytherin tighter against her.

Anya breathed out unevenly and for a moment Lexa thought she was going to cry more. Instead, Anya simply said, “I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think??? Anya and Lexa are back together… Do you think they’ll be able to work things out? Things are getting heated between Roan and Raven. Bellamy and Clarke are NOT on the same page. Octavia can't seem to catch a break with Lincoln. Who are you rooting for? Are any of the characters pissing you off at the moment? Sound off in the comments! 
> 
> Stay tuned for the long-awaited REAL meeting between Clarke and Lexa, for Raven to finally talk to Clarke, for more clues surrounding the mysterious runes and, of course, more tension between all our beloved delinquents! Don’t give up hope. This story is going to be big and epic and back in full swing sooner than you think :) Xx until then!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this update took way longer than I expected! Hopefully this monster of a chapter will make up for the wait. I plan to update more frequently from now on. Once every two weeks if not every week on Saturdays. 
> 
> On another note, I made a trailer for this fanfic and posted it to my Tumblr. It's [here](https://thefutureunseen.tumblr.com/post/178161068350/the-dark-sun-rises-fanfic-trailer-the-100) if you want to check it out!
> 
> Happy reading!

Chapter Ten:

_** A New Normal ** _

* * *

It feels like there's oceans  
Between me and you once again  
We hide our emotions  
Under the surface and try to pretend  
But it feels like there's oceans  
Between you and me  
**Oceans - Seafret**

* * *

The eager sun shifted in the sky. It peeked through the narrow window of the girl’s dormitory and sent a shaft of light across the sleeping Gryffindor. Octavia sighed as brilliant orange illuminated the back of her eyelids, its unwavering intensity indicating the late hour. She let out another long breath and squinted. The swirling vapor inside the hour-glass mounted on the far wall told Octavia that the time was well past eleven o’clock. She supposed now was as good a time as any to rise and greet the well-worn day. Not that there was anything pressing to do.

Last weekend she would have been studying in the library with a full stomach by this time. But after receiving high marks on her last exam, Octavia reckoned she deserved a break. The thought of her success brought a lazy smile to the girl’s face. It perched on her lips, satisfied as a cat with cream. But the expression soured into a frown as she recalled the events which had followed. Her excitement, finding Lincoln, their kiss and then… _Nothing_. She had actively searched for her tutor more than a few times over the past week, but he seemed to have the uncanny ability of disappearing precisely when she wanted to find him.

A frustrated sigh ripped from Octavia’s throat and she kicked off her striped duvet to roll out of bed. Her bare feet slapped noisily against the tile as she padded into the shared bathroom. She splashed water on her face and ran a wet toothbrush over her teeth. Then her tongue followed to check the job she had done sans toothpaste. It wasn’t ideal, but her last tube had been squeezed dry on Thursday. She’d thought about cutting it open, but didn’t want to deal the judgment from the other girls with whom she shared the bathroom.

Instead, Octavia grabbed a capful of mouthwash and gargled vigorously. It wasn’t hers, but that didn’t really matter. Amber would never notice if there was slightly less in the bottle. The girl would probably receive a new one in the monthly care package from her parents. Besides, Octavia would rather _borrow_ from Amber than ask Bellamy for more money. He spent enough of the school’s meager allowance on her as it was.

Octavia spit out the minty liquid and made a note to ask Raven about spells for dental hygiene, sure that the Ravenclaw would be able to help her. The Gryffindor drew her long hair up, tying it into a messy knot on the top of her head. Her gaze snagged on the reflection in the mirror and for a moment the eyes she saw staring back at her were glassy, sunken, and younger...much younger. Octavia froze and looked more closely, but there was nothing there except her own jade green eyes and the healthy flush of her newly-washed skin. She swallowed.  

In this position, with her arms overhead, the definition of her muscles was more pronounced. She curled her hands into fists to further emphasize the line in her biceps. Her arms dropped to her side and she lifted the hem of her shirt. The skin that greeted her was neither flat nor soft, but rippled by the subtle ridges of well-exercised muscles. And each line stood out like a comforting stroke to the girl who gazed at them.

Octavia exhaled slowly, releasing a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. She cleared her throat and turned sharply from the mirror, afraid that if she looked too long, her hard-won strength would slough off like rotten flesh. And all that would remain would be the skin and bones she had inhabited as a child.

That body had never felt like hers, but Octavia remembered it like it was yesterday. She remembered the bones that broke too easily and the cough that would not heal. She remembered the cold, helpless feeling of being powerless and insignificant and _small_ . She remembered the darkness of that closet, _her_ closet which became a world of its own when their mother had ‘guests.’ Bellamy was always sent on meaningless errands: to the store, though they had no money or to the playground, though they had no friends. But Octavia had been sent to the closet, _that_ closet, where she had been left to wait and to wonder what those noises outside meant.

The orphanage had helped slightly. Octavia had been a little less frail, a little less skittish, but that cough had taken forever to heal. It was only when Jaha discovered them - all three of them - and brought the Blakes and Lexa to to the wizarding world that she had found a solution. Slowly, Octavia’s body had filled out from consistent nourishment and wizarding medicine had done what no muggle doctor could for her weak lungs.

Still, sometimes the shadow of it returned. When she became too emotional or too upset, her lungs would spasm. The hint of that cough would return and it would feel nearly impossible to breathe. They told her it was all in her mind, that her lungs worked perfectly fine now, but they didn’t understand. A small, simple potion was all it took to calm the attack, but even that did not suppress the memories which would surface.

Octavia rinsed her face again, careful to avoid her reflection, and treated her skin to the luxury of lotion, which was also Amber’s, before leaving the bathroom behind. She rummaged through her chest of drawers, searching for any distraction. After shoving on a faded pair of jeans and a thin sweater, she left the dormitory with little awareness of her surroundings. Her mind was clouded by thoughts of the past which gave way to fresh concerns in a never ending loop. She was so distracted by her own dark mood that the person waiting in the corridor would have been completely passed over had they not spoken.

“Hey.”

The deep timbre of a familiar voice pulled Octavia into the outside world so sharply that she reeled back in protest and her thoughts scattered away like insects under a newly exposed leaf.

“Oh,” she breathed out even as her body stuttered to a halt. “Oh, it’s you.”

Lincoln gave her a quizzical look at the greeting, which she returned tenfold. In all honesty, she had not fully registered the scene before her or her place in it. It was just one of those days. And she had already spent hours looking for him since their illicit tete-a-tete. _He_ was the one who had ignored her. If he expected anything less than her coolest demeanor… Well, he had another thing coming.

The Hufflepuff cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “Are you busy? I thought maybe we could talk…”

_He wants to talk? Now?_ Octavia stared at him impassively and he shifted on the balls of his feet, obviously thrown by her less than animated attitude. _Good._

“Today’s not good for me.” The words fell flatly from her mouth, as monotone as her face.

“Oh, okay,” he shrugged his massive shoulders easily. “That’s fine. Another time then.” Lincoln gave her a small smile and turned to leave without one word of argument. _That’s it?_

Octavia breathed in sharply. No debate. No persuasion. Just a calm acceptance of her needs. Just a few simple words spoken quietly… Those words echoed through the corridor as loudly as if she had been slapped. It was so different from Octavia’s normal world of rage and blown-out tempers and fights that ended with screaming that it jolted her from her daze.

“Wait!” she called after him, color flooding her voice. Her legs weren’t long, but she used them efficiently to reach him in a few strides. He turned around at her command so she plowed forward, “I want to talk, too.”

He frowned, “But I thought…”

“I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Again that easily acceptance. “Where do you want to go?”

She smiled slightly, “Let’s get out of this stuffy castle.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Octavia led the way down a long flight of stairs, stopping suddenly when realization hit her.

“Were you waiting for me? Outside of Gryffindor Tower, I mean,”

Lincoln nodded and a muscle in his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. The slight flush of his cheeks was almost imperceptible against his dark bronze skin. He continued down the steps and Octavia followed closely behind him, undeterred.

“How long were you waiting?”

The same flush filled his cheeks, but he barely glanced down at her. “Not long.”

They reached the ground floor and passed through the front doors easily. The emotion that rested in the pit of Octavia’s stomach was so different than a half hour ago that she didn’t know what to make of it. All Octavia knew was that on some level she affected Lincoln. That realization gave her a sense of power. And that was enough for the chaotic feeling of helplessness - that tightness coiled within her - to ease ever so slightly.

Disparate clouds bathed the lawn in patchy sunlight and a few brave souls were spread out by the lakeshore despite the chill in the air. Fall was well and truly upon them; the Forbidden Forest had adopted a magnificent, autumnal palette in honor of the early October days - all reds, golds, oranges, and evergreens.  

Lincoln put his hand on the small of Octavia’s back to steer her away from the other students and the brief contact shattered all her illusions of being in control. Her mind started to spin even as her stomach lurched and warmth spread up her spine. The comfortable silence suddenly felt like empty space which begged to be filled. Their feet squeaked against the damp grass of the lawn as they skirted to the far end of the lake, making the silence between them even more unbearable. _Enough._ Octavia halted.

“So, did you--”

“I don’t know how--”

They both laughed and looked away awkwardly.

“You first,” Lincoln inclined his head towards her.

“No,” she shook her head firmly. “I’ve said a lot of crap over the past few weeks and made an ass of myself… I’d rather not do it again if that’s okay with you.”

Lincoln nodded that he understood, but remained silent. She tried to wait for him to say something, but the silence stretched out as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

Octavia threw up her hands, “I mean I don’t even know what you want to talk about! Is this about tutoring? Or my last exam? Or… what happened afterwards? I don’t want to assume.” Her words were as explosive as her initial gesture, but her voice tapered off at the end, unsure.

“Yes,” he nodded and he turned to face her more fully. Still, his expression remained frustratingly closed off. There was nothing to read there.

“Yes, what?”

Lincoln took a breath. “Yes. Yes--”

“Is that it? Is that all you’re going to say? Just yes?”  Octavia exploded again, her nervous energy having reached its peak. “You said you wanted to talk, _so talk_! I can’t interpret what you mean from one--”

“Octavia! Octavia,” Lincoln grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. The pent up energy inside her crumbled from its tall tower at his expression. He was grinning at her. The boy was _fucking_ grinning.

“This isn’t funny!” Her fist swung around to punch him in the shoulder. A deep laugh erupted from his throat. “Ugh!” She made to push him, but he caught her wrists this time and pulled them to his chest, drawing her close. Octavia’s breath hitched as his brown eyes swallowed her green ones.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

She cried out savagely and tried to pull away from him with little effect.

“No,” Lincoln shook his head, still wearing that stupid smile, “not crazy. You’re fiery, and unpredictable, and loud, and maddening, and if you would just be quiet for two seconds, I would tell you what I mean.”

Octavia stopped struggling, heat blooming in her cheeks. “Fine,” she huffed out.

He released her hands and raised his own to show he meant no harm. The smile fell from his face and an inscrutable sincerity took its place. He sighed and rubbed a hand over the strong planes of his face as if to wake himself.

“I said ‘yes’ because I think we should talk about all of the things that you mentioned,” he started off, giving Octavia a stern look when she opened her mouth to interject. “You’ve done incredibly well in a short period of time. I think you could be great at potions - anything that you set your mind to, really. You just need to apply all that _fire_ , that drive you have… which is why I don’t think you need me anymore.”

Her stomach lurched for the second time, but there was no warmth to it. Only cold dread. Octavia shook her head, “Lincoln that’s not true.”

“Octavia, please let me finish. I don’t think you need me to tutor you anymore, but more than that I _can’t_ be your tutor anymore… not after last week. It wouldn’t be right or appropriate.”

Octavia clenched her teeth at his choice of words. _Appropriate._ Why did he care so much about what was _appropriate?_ Nothing about Octavia was appropriate or right. Not her dead, junkie mom. Not the apathetic orphanage she’d grown up in. Not the toxic, constant bickering that held her and her brother’s relationship together. Not the fact that she relied on Hogwarts for basic necessities like fucking _toothpaste_ or that there was never enough for her and Bellamy to live comfortably while other students lived in excess. Nothing about her life was appropriate or right. How the fuck did he expect her to be? If that was the case then she would always, _always_ fall short.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she spun away from Lincoln. Octavia’s arms hung stiffly at her side and she clenched hands into her fists, fighting to keep all the emotions inside a cool exterior.

“Fine,” she agreed, her tone hard. “That’s fine. Thanks for the help. I’ll see you around.”

She didn’t look at him once as she spoke. There was no waver in her voice. And when she had finished, her feet pulled her forward so that she careened into motion.

Octavia kept her eyes trained on the castle, focusing on the details of each turret to keep the hot tears from falling. She was fine. She didn’t need anyone. _I’m calm. So Calm. Calm._

Lincoln caught up with her in a few strides. Warm hands gripped her forearms and pulled her around so that she came nose to nose with his exasperated face. Her eyes found a cloud to the right of his head which looked like a hippogriff. She focused on that detail instead of whatever emotion shifted in his dark eyes. She didn’t see his expression soften, but she felt his hands become gentle weights on her arms.

“Damn it, Octavia,” he whispered softly. “I told you to let me finish.”

Her eyes snapped back to him and lighted on the soft smile which traced his face.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be your tutor because it would be a conflict of interest. I like you, Octavia. A lot. And I’d rather kiss you than teach you about potions.”

His words washed over Octavia and her mouth fell open, not quite believing what she had just heard.

“I guess it was foolish of me to think you knew that after our last meeting,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I tried to talk to you for a week and you kept avoiding me!”

“I hadn’t figured everything out! You’re a bit of a freight train, O. Your confidence is overwhelming for us lesser mortals.”

She threw him a look of contempt, “Well, I’m not changing how I am… especially not for a _lesser mortal_.”

He barked out a deep laugh and pulled her into him. His eyes sparked and he gazed down at her in a way that made Octavia shiver. “I would never ask you to change.”

“And I’m not _that_ confident.” Her breath caught in her throat as his arms tightened around her, surprised by her own admission.

“Duly noted.”

“And you can’t run away the next time you’re intimidated by my sheer awesomeness.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay,” she nodded, her heart beating faster with each breath.

“Okay.” His face had tilted down and rested so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her nose and see the sunlight dancing in his eyes.

She bit her lip and spoke the next words quietly, “I like you, too.”

His smile widened impossibly. “I figured as much.”

She raised her hand to smack him for being presumptuous, but his lips found hers and all thought was lost to the sensation of his mouth. Her arms circled around his neck and she lifted onto the balls of her feet to press more firmly against him. A breathless shriek ripped from her throat as he lifted her off the ground. His chuckle reverberated between them and Octavia took a moment to gaze down at his face before crashing her lips into his once more in a kiss that was anything but appropriate.

High above the ground and deep inside the stones of the castle, two girls raced hand in hand towards their destination.  

“Where are you taking me?” Anya’s voice echoed against the walls as they climbed several flights of stairs. Lexa twisted around to throw her girlfriend a wicked smile and gave a gentle tug on the Slytherin’s hand.

“Somewhere far, far away.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a surprise,” Lexa replied easily, as if the answer was obvious.

“You hate surprises.”

“Good thing I know the surprise then!”

They hopped off the stairs on the seventh floor and moved deeper into the castle, until Lexa drew to a halt in front of ugly, threadbare tapestry. The strange mix of pastels and heavy browns was rather disturbing considering the scene portrayed a ridiculous looking wizard attempting to teach trolls to pirouette.

Anya swiveled around, observing the vacant corridor. She snorted, “Please tell me you didn’t bring us here to show me this horrid thing. What is it even supposed to be?”

Lexa barked out a laugh, “No. We are _definitely_ not here to see Barnabas the Barmy. Just give me a moment.”

The tapestry in question let out a offended harrumph and began to complain about ungrateful students. Anya immediately growled at the fabric-man and launched into a heated debate about the definition of _barmy_. Rolling her eyes at the pair, Lexa turned back to the task at hand.

The Gryffindor felt sure she looked like a madwoman as she paced back and forth in front of the opposite wall, muttering to herself all the while. After the third pass, the stones began to morph, twisting and turning until a large door appeared. Lexa clapped her hands in triumph and turned back to pull Anya out of her fruitless lecture. From the depths of her magically-enhanced rucksack, she produced two large coats, two sets of gloves, and two hats.

“What--”

“Just put them on!” Lexa laughed as she slid into her own coat.

“And you call me barmy,” the tapestry huffed at them once they were all bundled up. The two girls did look rather ridiculous wrapped up in cold-weather gear, like big puffy marshmallows. Anya swung around ready for a full assault on the tapestry, but Lexa pulled her away and through the newly-formed door before the next round could start.

Instantly wind buffeted the two girls, making it nearly impossible to shut the door; however, with their combined strength they managed to pull it closed before turning to face the chaos behind them.

Salt spray rose, frothy and light, into the air where it was caught by the wind and tossed into a fine mist. Waves beat against rock just beyond the shoreline of the pebble beach that spread out before them. Tumultuous, gray clouds hung low overhead. The weather wasn’t ideal, Lexa admitted, but it was Scotland afterall. How much better could it get?

Wind tore at Lexa’s plaited hair and she folded her arms into herself to keep upright against the forceful gales. She turned to Anya, trying to keep the look of excitement plastered to her now damp face.

“Ta da!” she bobbed her head towards the rolling waves, grinning.

Anya’s bright eyes widened wildly, “What _is_ this _?_ What are we doing here?”

Lexa frowned in response. She raised her voice over the howl of the raging wind, “You said you wanted to go to the coast! Have lunch on the beach!”

The Slytherin’s mouth opened then closed immediately as ocean spray misted over the two. Anya bent forward and for a moment Lexa worried that the salt water had gotten into the girl’s eyes. However, when Anya straightened, it became clear that her face was scrunched by laughter rather than pain.

“I said I wanted to go to the beach!”

“This _is_ the beach!” Lexa cried indignantly.

Another wave crested against the rocky outcropping and water drenched the girls. Lexa shivered, her hands wrapping tighter around her middle.

“Come on!” Anya gasped and grabbed the Gryffindor by her wet jacket. She pulled the two of them away before the next wave could do more damage. They sprinted towards the door which floated halfway up the pebble beach and launched themselves out of the stormy Scottish seaside. The girls fell onto the flagstones in a puddle of water and soaked goose down. The wind was gone and they were once more in the warmly lit seventh floor corridor.

“Oh my god, Lex,” Anya clutched her stomach as laughter shook her. The sound of her giggles echoed off of the stone walls and drowned out the protestations of Barnabas the Barmy at their sudden reappearance.

“Shut up,” Lexa huffed and tried to fight the flush of embarrassment rushing to her swollen cheeks.

“That was priceless.”

“Whatever,” Lexa muttered. “I don’t know why you’d want to go to the beach anyways. Seems miserable to me.”

Anya propped her head up, looking at the squirming Gryffindor. “That was _not_ the beach.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know! I’ve never been.”

“Wait, what? You’ve never been to the beach?”

Lexa flushed fully this time at the disbelief in her girlfriend’s voice.

“I haven’t been many places, Anya. Orphan, remember?” She meant it at a joke, but the tightness in her voice was real and Anya’s face instantly became serious.

“Of course,” was all the Slytherin could find to say.

“It’s fine,” Lexa dismissed, looking away and wishing that she hadn’t said anything.  

“No. It’s not fine at all. Come on.” Anya hopped to her feet before reaching over to help Lexa up. “Now how does this work?”

“You’ve never used the Room of Requirements before?”

“Nope.”

Lexa smiled, feeling slightly better now that there was something _she_ could teach Anya. After listening to the rules for the magical room, the Slytherin followed her instructions. They shucked off their wet gear as Anya assured her they wouldn’t be needing it and stepped through the magical door once more.

“Oh,” a soft sigh fell from Lexa’s lips.

Heat like she had never known baked the fine white sand which stretched out before them. The cerulean sky overhead was clear, without a single cloud in sight. _Thank Godric,_ Lexa thought to herself, feeling slightly scarred by their last encounter.

The gentle lapping of turquoise water drew her attention back down, down, down to where the sand disappeared into the sea. A calm sea. So placid that only the gentle murmur of the tide distinguished the body of water from a lake.

“ _This_ is a beach,” Anya turned around and spread her arms wide. Lexa could not find the words to respond so she simply nodded, stumbling in the soft ground after her girlfriend.

The Gryffindor sprawled out onto the warm sand and groaned as heat suffused her body. The feeling of the beach was so luxurious that Lexa could have rolled herself into it and never left. But when she tried to do just that, the fine grains of sand found their way into her mouth and nose. She sat up quickly and spat out the offensive material. _Okay, there is a down side to the beach._ She was _covered_ in sand.

Anya laughed at her and then plunked down next to the Gryffindor. She reached for the rucksack which Lexa had dropped in her excitement and began to rummage through it.

“What else did you bring for our ‘beach’ trip?”

“Hey,” Lexa snatched the bag away quickly. “It’s a surprise, remember? I _was_ trying to do something nice…even if it backfired epically in my face.”

Anya scooted closer and placed a quick kiss on Lexa’s mouth. “It’s very sweet. I love it.”

“Yeah, yeah, this is _much_ better. Although I didn’t really pack properly…I don’t suppose you want a cup of hot chocolate on this very warm beach?”

The Slytherin laughed at the thermos Lexa held up.

“No? Well… Oh! We can eat these sandwiches. And the cake! I don’t know how I thought we were going to eat victoria sponge in that _tempest_.” Lexa looked up, grinning, and caught sight of the shadow which had fallen over her girlfriend’s face. “Anya? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” the older girl smiled tightly, then shook her head as if to clear whatever bad thought had caught hold. “This is really amazing, Lex. I can tell you put a lot of effort into making it nice.”

“Fresh start, remember?” Lexa leaned over and placed a soft kiss against Anya’s lips. Then another. The Slytherin tasted of salt and sun.

“Yeah, fresh start.”

“Come on,” Lexa jumped up, “Let’s see how real this ocean is.”

The Gryffindor arched an eyebrow in challenge before her face disappeared in the folds of her shirt as she tore the article off. Her pants followed, then her shoes, and every last piece of clothing until she stood naked, her bare skin and honey-brown hair glowing in the sunlight. A small sigh escaped her lips as sand slid between her bare toes and warmed the bottoms of her feet. This was heaven.

“Well?” She smirked at her girlfriend’s dazed expression. Anya’s eyes flicked down to Lexa’s sunkissed breasts and then further down still. Lexa didn’t even try to suppress the laugh which ripped from her throat. “Hurry up!”

She turned, giving the Slytherin ample view of her ass before striding off towards the waves. She thought she heard the soft whisper of clothes against sand, but Lexa couldn’t be sure. The water enveloped every one of her senses as she waded out and dove head first into the blissfully warm sea.

On the west side of the seventh floor and a million miles away, Raven shivered and pulled her wool cardigan closed. The tell-tale signs of autumn had just become perceptible; it was that delicate period between summer’s warmth and winter’s bone-cold when the chill in the air was not yet biting enough to light the central fires of the castle, but sharp enough to be felt in the bright, window-filled common room of Ravenclaw Tower.

The hearth crackled happily, unaware of its short radius. Raven wiggled towards the fire from her spot on the floor, belly pressed down into the soft, midnight blue carpet.

“What are you doing?” Jasper’s perplexed query followed behind her. Raven didn’t bother to respond until she had finished worming her way closer and the fire’s heat kissed along the length of her left side.

“I’m cold. Throw me my books, will you?”

When Jasper remained silent, Raven glanced over to where he sat cross-legged on the rug, his back relaxed against the seat of a powder blue armchair. His amber eyes were wide ovals fixed on her midsection. Raven followed his gaze down; her shirt had ridden up from the awkward belly shuffle towards the hearth and a large swath of tan skin lay exposed.

“Jasper,” Raven snapped her fingers at him. “Jasper. Eyes up here, bud. It’s just a bit of skin. Don’t go full virgin on me.”

The boy flushed crimson and audibly cleared his throat. He recovered relatively quickly, throwing her a cavalier smirk.

“I’m only human, Raven.”

She snorted and arched an eyebrow at him, “Pass the books and get over here… Unless you don’t need my help with Arithmancy anymore?”

“No, no!” He gathered the pile of their books in one disastrous armful before coming to dump them in front of Raven. “I _definitely_ still need your help.”

Raven made an indignant noise as she attempted to unbend a few pages which had been casualties of the move.

“It’s fine. Here.” Jasper took the book from her hands and tapped his wand against the crumpled pages. They flattened out in response to his muttered spell. Raven pushed herself onto her elbows.

“Where’d you learn that? What's the spell?”

“Arithmancy first and then I’ll tell you. You scratch my back and I…?”

“Annoy the shit out of me?” she asked with a smile full of false sweetness. Jasper knew exactly what he was doing. She wanted that spell. It irked her how many spells he knew that she had yet to learn. Granted her knowledge was more practical, but Jasper was the King of strange, fringe magic… not that it proved useful ninety percent of the time. But that other ten percent…

Jasper grinned at her in that maddening way of his as he settled flat on his stomach beside her.  

“What?” Raven demanded.

“You’re still thinking about that spell, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Ha!” He twisted towards her, “Yes, you are. I can tell because your face is flushed. You always look like that when you’re thinking about magic.”

“I’m not thinking about it!”

“Mm-hmm,” he pressed his lips together, but Raven could tell he only did it to hide his satisfied smirk.

She glared at him, “And my cheeks are not flushed. You would think for a Ravenclaw you’d be more observant.”

“Oh, I’m _very_ observant, Reyes,” Jasper pulled back to face her. His amber eyes were creased at the side. “But even if I wasn’t, I would still know that you get short of breath when you learn something new. Your cheeks flush and your eyes get a faraway look. I mean if I didn’t know any better I would say it’s what you look like when you c--”

“Jasper!” Raven hit him in the ribs. The howl of pain he let out deteriorated into a fit of giggles.

“I could-- always-- ask Roan--”

“Oh, shut up,” Raven shook her head; her face was definitely aflame now. Another chuckle in his tenor timber brought a fresh rush of blood to her cheeks.

“So, I could ask Roan?”

“I’m not talking about this with you!”

“Why not? We’re _friends._ ”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in my sex life?”

“I’m not!” he protested.

The scathing look she shot him could have shattered bone.

“Okay, okay,” he rolled onto his back, still fighting back laughter. “Maybe I need tips?”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re going after Octavia again. I can promise you that won’t end well.”

“How do you know? I’ve got new moves since my last attempt. She might be taken by my raw, animal magnetism.”

A laugh tore from Raven’s throat, but she immediately tried to stifle it with the back of her hand. Her shoulders shook as she glanced over at the lanky boy beside her. His angular face was painted by an incredulous, if not slightly offended expression at her mirth.

“Don’t laugh,” he warned her. But Raven couldn’t help it. His censure sending fresh peels of laughter and causing her shoulders to shake harder. Just the thought of Jasper - skinny, bean-pole Jasper - being animalistic or sexual in any way was so difficult for her to imagine. Her head spun slightly from the lack of oxygen; she breathed out, trying to calm herself. But the laughter didn’t abate.

“I said don’t laugh,” Jasper lowered his voice and reached over to pull the hand away from her mouth. A deep chuckle escaped her lips, uninhibited. His eyes widened in indignation; unfortunately, Raven couldn’t tell how much was in jest and how much was real, which only caused her to laugh harder. He tightened his grip on her right arm and she pulled away, twisting onto her back so that she could use her left to sock him. They rolled as he tried to grab her other attacking hand. But he wasn’t fast enough and it found its mark, hitting him in the gut.

“Oof,” he let out a breath. Another laugh ripped from Raven’s chest and she suddenly found her hands pinned on either side of her head.  

Somehow in the tussle of trying to hit him, he had wound up on top of her. Her chest spasmed, rising of the floor as she tried to hold back her laughter. He stared down at her, the look in his eyes no longer playful. His breathing rattled.

“Don’t laugh.” He said again quietly, his voice almost pleading. Raven’s eyes darted up to his and the wounded look was unmistakable. Was he really upset? She couldn’t understand why. Her lips caught between her teeth and she breathed out slowly through her nose, calming herself. Jasper’s brows furrowed and a look of confusion passed over his face. Or was it panic? Or something else?

His eyes flicked down and Raven was suddenly aware of how much of his body pressed down against her. Her legs had fallen apart and his hips rested against her own. And the only thing keeping the two of them from lying flush was the fact that Jasper had her hands pinned by her head.

Raven swallowed. She could easily twist them over. She didn’t need her arms to get the upper hand of this situation, but moving would somehow make this situation much more intimate and Raven had no idea what the hell was going on. Her eyes darted up to his. What was--

“Guys?” Monty’s voice broke over them like a bucket of cold reality. They scrambled apart. Jasper cleared his throat and threw Monty a causal wave in greeting. _Everything is totally normal. That wasn’t weird, at all,_ Raven thought.

Raven sat up and pulled down her traitorous shirt which had once again bunched up in the fray. Her cheeks felt hot, but it was probably just from sitting so close to the fire.

“Oh, hey Mon!” she smiled cheerfully. “We’re just doing Arithmancy homework. Wanna join? Or have you already done the essay?”

Monty looked back and forth between them and Raven felt the heat of the fire intensify the longer he stared. He obviously thought something was going on, which was ridiculous of course. He had just walked in at the wrong moment.

“Uh, I actually told Harper that I would meet up with her, but, um… later! We can go over the essays later, yeah?” He backed out of the room, giving them two big thumbs up even as he turned to go.

“You don’t have to--” Raven began to call after him, but the door was already shut.

Jasper cleared his throat again. “So-”

“So,” she spoke quickly, “Arithmancy. We have to write an essay describing its historical development and the following schools of thought which it inspired. Also, we have to find the heart, social, and character numbers for our immediate relatives…” she trailed off. Immediate relatives. _Fuck_. That meant her mom or Finn and his parents. Talk about choosing the lesser of two evils.

“You can use mine if you want,” Jasper offered, reading her mind.

She shook her head, flashing him a warm smile, “It’s fine.”

The awkwardness between them dissipated and before long they were both laying on their stomachs once more, scribbling out their first drafts onto parchment. Raven glanced over at his work to make sure Jasper was on the right tract. Her brows raised at the length of what he had already written in his sprawling script:  
  
_Arithmancy is an old and revered numerical art derived from the ancient Greek practice of Isopsephy._ _It assigns numerical value to words or phrases thereby forming a more concrete form of divination than many studied today at Hogwarts. The word ‘arithmancy’ can be broken down into two etymological roots from Greek: ‘arithmos’ which means ‘number’ and ‘manteia’ which means ‘divination.’ Thus, divination through numbers. This system is most commonly used to predict strengths and weakness of a person by determining their three ‘numbers’ - heart, social, and character. These numbers…_  
  
Raven stared at Jasper in disbelief. The sound of quill on parchment halted when he glanced up at her.

“What?”

“You didn’t really need my help at all did you?”

His mouth fell open, “No, I did. I promise! I’m shit at Arithmancy.”

Her eyebrows rose, expressing her doubt. She shook her head and when he continued to protest, she shoved his shoulder. Jasper toppled over and Raven smirked, feeling slightly more satisfied.

On the other side of the seventh floor, Bellamy kept a steady pace as he walked away from Gryffindor Tower. He hadn’t planned on doing anything today. Just the usual morning flight drills on the pitch with Lexa and then an afternoon spent reading about the folklore and history of magic. Not that he would admit to the latter. He always kept a copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ nearby so he could pretend to read something less nerdy.

Of course, if someone looked closely they would notice that the issue was a month or so out of date, but few people cared that much. Plus, when it became ridiculously old he could always ask Lexa for a newer copy. She didn’t fit the description of horder; however, her second trunk full of collectible _Quidditch Weekly_ editions told another story.  

All in all, it was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday and it had been shaping up to be just that until a tawny bird nearly shattered the common room window. Bellamy should have known the letter it carried was from Clarke just by the appearance of the strange creature. The avian messenger had enormous wings, a deadly beak, and sharp talons which had nearly torn a hole in Bellamy’s robes when it swooped in. _Of course,_ he thought with a shake of his head. _She would have an eagle instead of an owl._

Bellamy put distance between himself and the seventh floor as he descended the maze of stairs. It was probably a Durmstrang thing. The eagle. Though Bellamy wouldn’t be surprised if it was just some rebellious statement rather than a strange tradition from her old school. Clarke seemed to get a kick out of being subtly subversive in every aspect of her life. It was one of the things that he first liked about her. It reminded him of Lexa in a way.

The stairs from the fifth floor shifted from the west to the east landing of the fourth and Bellamy had to pause, waiting for them to swing around again. The note from Clarke seemed to burn a hole in the back pocket of his jeans while he stood there. He felt the urge to take it out, but resisted. He already knew what it said by heart. It was short and matter-of-fact just like its sender.

_B,_  
_Library. One hour. Don’t be late.  
_ _\- C_

_Don’t be late,_ he scoffed. He rarely arrived early that was true, but late was no different. He paused in the corridor of the fourth floor as he recalled the first class they had shared. _Okay, maybe I have a small problem with tardiness,_ he admitted to himself. But that was different. It didn’t extend to _important_ things. Just classes.

Bellamy continued down the corridor, making his way to the upper entrance of the library. He pushed through the doors and, when he didn’t see Clarke, he walked to the railing of the atrium which looked down onto the lower level of the library on the third floor. _There._ A head of blonde hair reflected the glow of scattered lamplight. She stood nearly iridescent in the shadows of the dimly lit library.

“Clarke,” he hissed quietly, trying to get her attention. Her head snapped around and those blue eyes found him in record time. He almost snorted when she raised a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet. Bellamy settled for a sardonic smile.

She gestured for him to come down to her; one finger pointed determinedly at the stones beneath her feet. _As her highness commands,_ Bellamy thought, though not without some irony as he found that her bossiness did not bother him. In fact, it--

“Hurry up,” she whispered as soon as his left foot hit the third floor and gave him minimal distance from the spiral stairs.

He let her halo of hair guide him back into the recesses of the library, content to follow forever. However, she soon pulled him into an alcove with a round table near the Herbology section.

“Hello to you too,” Bellamy finally spoke as he settled down into one of the stiff wooden chairs. She blinked down at him and then realized what he meant.

“Oh, right. Hello.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to respond, but Clarke cut him off.

“How am I? I’m great. You? You look fine,” she waved her hand as she sat down in the seat next to him. “So, I met with Professor Wallace again…about the runes.” She reminded him when he gave her a blank look.

“Right. Of course,” Bellamy straightened in his seat, any annoyance at being dismissed giving way to his curiosity. “What did he find out?”

Her face fell instantly, “Well actually… _nothing_. He said that some of these runes might be the original forms of more modern derivatives. But without extensive research, it would be nearly impossible to determine their meaning to any degree of certainty… and perhaps not even then.”

“So that’s it then?”

“Well,” Clarke replied slowly, “not exactly...I mean he was _really_ unhelpful. Even dismissive. You know he told me that it was a waste of my time to devote any energy to this project? That it was, and I quote, ‘beyond his expertise or any professor here at Hogwarts and thus definitely beyond mine.’”

“What a dick.”

“I know,” Clarke nodded, her annoyance written plainly on her face. “But, when I pressed him, he did say that there seemed to be a consistent theme, most likely biological. Flora and fauna, if you will. This would narrow down the possible meanings significantly and I thought…”

Bellamy watched her as she spoke, her speech rapid and overlapping in her excitement. Her eyes brightened from cerulean to sky blue and her brows pinched together then smoothed out. It was only at that moment that Bellamy registered the expressiveness of her face. He watched as annoyance shifted to anticipation, anticipation turned to excitement, and excitement then became trepidation. It was so blissfully altered from the cool, impassive exterior he remembered first observing that he lost his train of thought and barely registered it when she turned to ask him a question.

“Sorry, what?”

Clarke sighed in annoyance and her brows pinched together again, “Pay attention, Blake.”

“Yep, sorry. I’m listening,” he assured her as a small twinge of guilt dug at him for being the cause of her annoyance.

“I was saying that if you look at _this_ rune and _this_ rune,” she pointed to two symbols on the sheet laid out before them, “you can see that they appear together repeatedly throughout the writing in the cave. This one,” she circled the symbol for emphasis, “looks similar to the rune for ‘light.’” Another sheet of paper fluttered down on top of the first. She pointed to another graphic on it, but Bellamy was distracted by the fact that this page had a torn edge and was not handwritten.

“Did you tear this out of a book?” Bellamy asked in disbelief.

Clarke flushed, not meeting his gaze, “It’s fine. I’m going to _repairo_ it back in later.”  

He nearly laughed, but figured that would not be received well. _The Princess is not so perfect after all._

“See?” she asked him and pointed back and forth between the scribbled rune and the one on the torn page. They both had a circular twirl which formed their base, but other than that, very little remained the same.

“I don’t know…”

Clarke huffed, “Okay, but look at the other one. Compare it to the modern rune for ‘night.’”

Bellamy had to admit that these two symbols resembled each other more than the first pair. He looked back and forth and saw that a crescent shape was distinct in both and the bold line drawn through was the same. The ancient one had more… just _more_ to it. The modern one was clear and simple. It was difficult to compare the two.

“Wait,” he breathed out. His eyes catching on the first rune again, the one Clarke has said looked like the rune for ‘light.’ “See the lines that spiral out from the center? Doesn’t that look more like the rune for ‘sun’ to you?”

“Yesssss,” Clarke murmured in a hushed tone as her eyes darted between his fingers.

“So the symbols together are Sun and Night?” he asked. That didn’t make much sense.

“Well, generally there are various meanings for each rune. At least in the modern interpretation--”

“I know that,” he muttered.

“So, Sun and Night could mean Day and Night. Although Night doesn’t necessarily mean Night. It could signify darkness or the color black or twilight.”

“That’s a lot of guesswork.”

Clarke’s eyes bored into him.

“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands. “You said they appeared together frequently… maybe one is a descriptor of another?”

“That’s possible,” she mused and became lost in thought. The tip of her quill flicked back and forth across her lips like the twitch of a cat’s tail. Bellamy swallowed and forced himself to look away.

He started spitballing at random, “Brightest night? Bright night? Darkest day? Dark day?”

“Sun,” she reminded him without looking up.

“Right,” he nodded. “A sun… A sun. A sun like night? A black sun? A dark sun? A--”

“Wait!” she cried out, looking up at him.

Bellamy recoiled. In the dim light her eyes looked like midnight. As if her pupils had swallowed everything else whole. It had to be a trick of the light, he assured himself. For when he blinked, Bellamy saw that her eyes were simply darkened by the emotions storming inside.

“The dark sun,” Clarke repeated the words to herself. “Why does that sound so familiar? I swear I’ve-- but I can’t place it. Ugh.”

Her fingers rose to pinch the bridge of her nose to ward off the impending migraine which signaled its approach by the tell-tale pounding behind her eyes. _The dark sun._ An odd sense of vertigo stole over Clarke. It was accompanied by the overwhelming feeling that if she just reached out far enough she would be able to draw the meaning of those words closer…. But no matter how much she strained to remember, all that waited for Clarke was more confusion and the dull pressure building in her head.

“You okay?” Bellamy asked and Clarke felt his hand squeeze her shoulder gently.

Clarke nodded. She took a breath and let it out, surprised to find the weight of Bellamy’s hand comforting.

“My head just hurts. Maybe we can pick this up another time?” She looked up and his hand fell away, leaving Clarke oddly disappointed. She brushed the feeling away as he nodded.

She had another thought, “You’re a history buff. Could you check for any mention of… that phrase in all your books.”

“Sure,” he smiled reassuringly, “It’s not familiar to me, but I’ll have a look. Couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Thanks, Bellamy.”

There was a beat and Clarke glanced over at him again, surprise written across his tan face. She held in a snort. Sometimes she forgot how little people expected of her. Then again, she didn’t usually give them a reason to expect much. She’d read a quote once along the lines of “nothing ruins a marriage faster than expectations.” Clarke didn’t think that only applied to marriage.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged finally, a small flush creeping up his neck. It made Clarke wonder if he had been more surprised by her gratitude or the use of his given name. It didn’t really make a difference, either way.

“If you find anything, just send a message.”

He opened his mouth, but she pressed on hastily, “You can use Mollis if you want. She’ll know where to find me.”

He nodded. Clarke didn’t want to assume he had an owl. They’d gotten into enough tiffs from her making assumptions.

“Mollis?” He asked her as she gathered her things together.

“Yeah. It’s latin for soft.”

“I know,” he stated and Clarke’s eyes snapped to his. But he wasn’t being smug. Just making a statement. “Seems a little out of place for an animal of such magnitude and presence.”

“Well, I named her when she was just a chick. She was cute and fluffy and I didn’t know she would become a hellion. A lovable one. But she is a force of nature.”

Bellamy turned away, but not before Clarke saw a grin spread across his face.

“What?” she demanded as they walked back towards the front of the library. Her head still hurt too much to try and figure out his strange psyche.

“Just sounds like someone else I know.”

Clarke glared at him, “You don’t even know what I was like as a kid.”

“I can imagine.”

“Don’t you have reading to do?”

“You sick of me already, Griffin?”

“Just--”

“Shh!” Madam Tsing hissed at them as they rounded the corner into the atrium. “Five points from Slytherin, Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke gaped at the librarian then rounded on Bellamy. He backed away, making a book with his hands.

_“I’ve got reading,”_ he mouthed.

“You--” Clarke clamped her mouth shut at the look on Madam Tsing’s face and barreled out of the grave-like silence of the library as fast as her feet would carry her.

By the time Clarke rounded the third floor, she had already thought of five different ways to repay Bellamy for the loss of house points. It wasn’t that she wanted him to get in trouble; it was simply that things wouldn't be fair until they were even. Clarke supposed that was the Slytherin in her.

She cursed and stopped to shift around the stuff she was carrying. Her arms were as full of books and loose sheets of parchment as her tightly-packed bag and the weight was beginning to put strain on her shoulders. When she reached the first floor, Clarke stepped away from the stairwell once more to reposition her ample load. However, before she could shift anything the murmur of hushed voices drifted towards her from further along the corridor.

Maybe it was growing up in a place like Durmstrang or having separated parents or always only knowing half-truths, but whispers meant gold; they meant currency and Clarke was not one to ignore such a gift. She inched down the corridor, careful to keep the load of books balanced, and stopped outside of the cracked door to a classroom. As she moved closer, the voices grew in strength until hurried, choked words formed in Clarke’s ears.

“--have to be smart about this. We don’t know the cause. Let’s not create a panic, Abby.”

_Abby?_ Clarke placed her back to the wall and peered around the doorframe to see who was with her mother. _Kane._ Professor Kane and Abby stood close together only a few feet from the door. Clarke ducked back out of sight quickly.

“Marcus. He’s just a kid. What if--”

“That’s right. He’s a kid. Maybe it’s some joke. We don’t know yet. You’ve told Jaha. It’s up to him to decide as Headmaster.”

“It won’t be enough!”

“Abby, Abby! Listen to me.” The way Kane whispered her mother’s name felt intimate, familiar, and it make Clarke’s skin crawl. He kept speaking in a hushed voice, “We don’t know what happened. We can’t know. Not without a body.”

_A body?_ Clarke’s breath caught in her throat.

“Atom’s friends reported him missing, Marcus,” Abby’s voice broke. Clarke fought the urge to look around again.

“Maybe he ran away. He might have gone home for all we know… Abby… Abby, look at me! We wait the allotted time. We follow protocol. That’s all we can do.”

“Screw protocol,” her mother’s voice sounded muffled now. Clarke snuck another peek around the corner. Abby’s face was buried in the folds of Kane’s yellow robes and his arms were wrapped around her like a vice. Clarke’s stomach dropped. She could almost hear it fall to the floor with a sickening splat. It was Kane. The reason her parents had split up all those years ago. _Kane._ The reason Abby had never once reached out before Jake’s death. The reason she abandoned her family and never looked back. Clarke didn’t know what inside of her was breaking, but she felt something tear open at the sight of them hugging. Her dad, Jake Griffin, the man who had raised her when Abby had refused, was _dead_. Barely four months.

Red filled Clarke’s vision and she acted without thinking. She let the top book in her arms fall and slam to the floor with a sickening crack. It had the desired effect; the two professors sprung apart and her mother’s guilty look told Clarke everything she needed to know.

“Clarke?” Abby’s voice was thick with emotion, but the young Slytherin simply bent down to retrieve the battered title. Clarke straightened and looked her mother dead in the eyes. _I hate you._ Abby’s face turned brittle as if she had read her daughter’s thoughts.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“You will _not_ tell anyone,” Abby demanded. “Do you hear me? We’re handling this.”

“Yeah, sounds like it.”

“I need your assurance that you won’t speak to anyone about this.”

Clarke looked at her mother with all of the loathing and anger left in her soul and spat out the next words with the venom of true viper.

“Go float yourself.”

She didn’t wait for the lecture that was surely coming or the threat of detention or any number of ways that the proverbial hammer could fall. Instead, Clarke hurried away from the stunned pair and hoped that if she put enough distance between herself and them that her vision would stop bleeding crimson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Saturday. Reviews honestly give me life and energy to keep writing. Let me know what you think here or come yell at me on Tumblr! Xx


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance if there are any errors that I missed. I'm running on no sleep after taking a red eye to Mexico City and am now trying to upload this while I wait for my next flight. My eyes are so blurry. Anyways, hope that you've had more sleep than me and that you enjoy this new chapter!

Chapter 11:

_**Protego** _

* * *

Cause' it feels so frightening  
My chest starts tightening  
Hits me like a bolt of lightning  
No, I've tried, I can't fight it off  
I've started shaking  
With every move I'm making  
And every breath I'm taking  
And now I'm breaking down in your arms.

Now I'm in the dark sleeping as I walk  
Don't leave me behind  
Now I feel the cold cut right to my bones  
I'm shivering inside.  
**Next to You - Of Rust & Bone**

* * *

_Shadows slowly crept along the hall behind her, clinging to the walls like stiff silk curtains; yet they were always in her peripheries, disappearing when she tried to look at them straight on. As she moved forward, soft whispers seeped from the stones beneath her feet, each voice burrowing into her bare skin, piercing her, using her to rise ever higher until they filled the space. Until she was no more than a ladder of flesh and bone and blood in a hissing sea of cruel whispers. The shadows, emboldened, slunk further along the corridor, merging into infinite obsidian at the end of the hall. The swirling black mist beckoned to Clarke, its song more welcome than even one of those the harsh, echoing voices._

_One foot stepped in front of the other though not of her own volition; her limbs felt disembodied, sentient, and each stiff step brought her closer, closer,_ **_closer_ ** _. A sharp, pinpoint of heat in her chest grew until it became almost unbearable. The feeling - the burning heat - did not originate inside of her, but it became a part of her._

_The black mist towered above her, an endless void to a voidless end. Her hand floated towards that dark siren as if magnetized and with one singular finger she pierced the darkness before her…_

_As her hand reached forward, the inky black shadows adhered to her skin, sweeping along every surface until she was no more than smoke and shadow. She could not breathe. She could not think. She could only feel the invasive, foreign intrusion of her body. The whispers echoed painfully as they reached their highest decibel. Her hands clamped over her ears as a scream tried to claw its way from her throat only to choke on shadows in silent agony._

_Clarke crumpled to the ground, the shadow-skin sloughing off onto the flagstones like deceased flesh. She gasped and coughed as air flooded her deprived lungs, one hand braced against the cold stones for support. The black pool that had once coated her skin glinted before her in the light of the icy torches, reflecting her own image back to her: eyes as dark as midnight, hair as light as the sun, and a face pale…too pale. A ripple spread over the opaque surface and in its wake her reflection transformed into the face of another._

_A broken sob escaped her throat, audible this time, and the desperation in it cracked like a whip against the walls. The rippling pool shivered and took shape, rising off the ground like a spectre._

_“Dad?” The stilted word fell from her mouth like ash, like the ash which he had become._

_The figure knelt down and his eyes were as black as night, as black as the eyes she had seen reflected back to her. No, no, no!_

_This was not her father. This was the animal of her grief made manifest and stripped bare, just as she now was. The spectre tried to reach for her, but Clarke scrambled back. Away from this ghost. Away from everything she feared. Away from the emptiness inside her._

_She screamed as its shadowed hands clamped around her ankle and tugged, dragging her towards the blackness it was fast becoming. Clarke reached out for anything, any crevice in the stone. But she was no match for this beast and with a final tug, it pulled her into the oozing pool of shadow on the floor._

_She fell for hours. Or maybe for only a second. Time had lost all meaning. Blinding light flared into being and her hands flew up to shield her eyes. Every sound, every breath was echoed back to her tenfold. The shadowed hallway had vanished and in its place a round room of mirrors rose, each shiny surface reflecting back a different piece of her soul. A different part of history. A different Clarke._

_The Clarke in the first mirror sobbed fat tears which ran down her cheeks like small rivers. She was six years old and sat beneath a tree she had been climbing, her legs bent out at odd angles, both femurs fractured.  A young Jake Griffin gingerly picked up that Clarke and the two disappeared from view…_

_And into the next mirror where he handed that version of Clarke her first broom. She whizzed around the field for a minute or two before faceplanting into the dirt. He had laughed and she had been so mad at his laughter then. But she wasn’t mad anymore. Instead, his young smile pierced her soul._

_Clarke spun and looked into the next mirror where a slightly older, angrier version of herself screamed at her father. They’d just had a blowout fight, but she couldn’t remember what it was about. She couldn’t_ **_remember_ ** _._

_The pair faded and she looked into another mirror, another image, another Clarke: her first year at school. His conspiratorial smile when she’d walked into his classroom._

_Then another: her dad giving her a hard time about the boys at school. She’d laughed him off, like she usually did. She’d never even found the courage to tell him… he would never know._

_Then another: him telling her about his lecturing trip. He’d be gone for a while. It had something to do with the project he’d been working on. But every word he had said had been a lie._

_Clarke felt dizzy as she turned to the next mirror, head spinning from the weight of the memories displayed before her. In this one, a familiar memory played out… the same one she had replayed in the back of her mind for the past five months. The same one she both tried to forget and tried to remember. Had his name been MacNabb? Auror MacNabb? She couldn’t recall, but she did remember his cold, impassive eyes and his professional, curt tone when he told her Jake Griffin was dead._

_“What are you doing?!” the motion in the mirror was frantic as a nearly identical Clarke shouted. A team of unknown men had shown up at Durmstrang and the news had spread like wildfire. She thought her dad would be among them. She thought he had come home, but when she rushed to his office all she found were strangers tearing apart every untouched piece she had left of him._

_“Stop! What are you doing?!” Clarke screamed as they ransacked her father’s apartment._

_“MacNabb, get her out of her,” one of the men had barked and an eagle-faced man had dragged her out of the room._

_She clawed and scratched at him, but he didn’t budge. His voice was monotone, unfeeling, uncaring when he told her that the man she’d known was gone. Her father had been an Auror. He had lived a double life for the protection of those he loved while serving his fellow wizards. He had died nobly, died well, died for the cause, died rooting out dark wizards._

_The scene fell to pieces in the mirror and drifted away like smoke. Only one mirror in this strange reflective tower still played. Like all the rest, it showed Clarke and her father; they sat before a roaring hearth, having just finished a game of chess. Jake tossed a tiny silk bag over to her and smiled at her confusion. The Clarke in the mirror pulled a pendant out of the delicate fabric. The same necklace she wore now, the one she never took off._

_Her father had given it to her before he’d died… No, Clarke shook her head. That wasn’t right. She’d worn this necklace for as long as she could remember. He’d given it to her ages ago. Like her memory, the last mirror flickered between two opposing truths; unable to make up its mind, it showed a Clarke as she was now and then a much younger version._

_Tears pooled in her eyes as Clarke watched the image glitch. She couldn’t remember. This was her fault. She couldn’t even remember this one detail which like all the rest were slipping away with the passage of time._

_The beating of wings drew Clarke’s gaze away from the broken mirror. A crow hopped in the center of this strange hall, a blot of darkness in a sea of light. It cocked its head, turning a beady, black eye towards her. It seemed to peer through her, searching. For what? The distant sound of drums echoed in Clarke’s ears, throbbing, pulsating. She gasped as shadows licked at her bare feet once more, rising higher and higher, slowly quenching the light. No. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t finished._

_Clarke’s eyes darted back to the last mirror trying to memorize the curve of her father’s face. The spark in his eyes. But the inky shadows now lapped against her hips, against her belly. She reached out towards the mirror, towards her father. The Jake Griffin in the frosted glass hung the necklace around her reflection as it oscillated between ten and sixteen. He smiled softly, sadly. “You’re my sun, Clarke. Never forget that.” His startlingly blue eyes found hers. Not the Clarke in the mirror, but the one outside and the words died on his lips even as the shadows consumed her._

“Ahhhhh!” Pain like Clarke had never known hammered into the back of her skull . Her hands flew to her head as if she might tear it open and release whatever pressure was building inside.

“Shut the hell up, Griffin!” someone shouted from across the room.

“You shut up, Echo,” another voice hissed. Clarke could barely hear them over the drumming of her own blood. It felt like every ounce of fluid in her body had been deposited in her brain and if she didn’t do something her skull would crack open and every thing that made her human would just slip out.

“Clarke?” She felt the bed shift as a weight pressed down against her mattress. She whimpered when the movement shifted her. “Clarke? Are you okay?”

She tried to snort at the stupid question, but all the came out was another gasp. “Do... I look... Okay?”

“Fair point. Well made.” The lilt was definitely Emori’s.

Clarke groaned.

“Clarke?” Emori repeated her name more insistently.

“Just... Just give me a minute.”

“Can you two kindly shut the hell up? Some of us are still trying to sleep!” Echo’s growl was feral from the other side of the room.

“Oh, stop being such a bitch,” Emori snapped back. “Your alarm is going to go off any minute.”

The weight lifted off of Clarke’s bed as the two continued to argue. Their voices raised over the sound of the clock chiming eight o’clock, over the trill of Echo’s own alarm, over the staccato of Clarke’s labored breathing. The room swelled, becoming a mess of noises and voices as people began to dress for the day. Clarke tried to block it all out, but her mental barriers lay shattered by the throbbing pain in her skull. Minutes passed. The room began to empty.

“Sure you’re okay?” Emori asked once more, her shadowy figure outlined by the door.

Clarke gave a small, fractured nod of her head. A single click sounded as the door closed and then a resounding quiet filled the space. She lay back with her eyes twisted shut, counting each inhalation a victory.

By the time she could open her eyes without splitting pain, well over an hour had passed and Clarke was sure that she had missed breakfast. It hardly mattered though; she didn’t think she could even stomach toast at the moment. Not with the bitter taste of the past still so fresh in her mouth.

Clarke swallowed, moving gingerly about the dormitory as she tried to dress herself. When she was clothed and had finally managed to tie the green silk around her neck, the clock struck a quarter to ten. Her Defence Against the Dark Arts class started in fifteen minutes. She would have to hurry to make it on time. _Hurry_. What a joke. Even the thought of rushing brought back the loud drumming in her head.

Still, she moved out of the dungeons as fast as her sluggish brain would allow. One step. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. _Sun_ . _You’ll always be my sun, Clarke._

The necklace she always wore seemed to burn hot against her skin… or was it her skin that burned? Clarke didn’t know or care. She barely saw the students who passed her or the stairs beneath her feet. Dreams clouded her vision. Nightmares. The world seemed to have a sheen to it. As if she still lay beneath the weight of her down comforter. As if she still slept. Her body felt heavy and weightless at the same time.

 _This isn’t real. None of this is real,_ Clarke thought as her eyes stung. Not Hogwarts. Not her mother. Not the crowd which surged around her, a clamering of students rushing to their first class of the day. What day? What day was it? What year? What was the last _real_ thing she remembered?

Clarke was falling, falling, falling down a gaping, endless pit. A tunnel of darkness, blackness… of impenetrable obsidian. And there was nothing, nothing, nothing to hold onto, nothing real to keep her from that inevitable fall. Nothing but that horrible drumming in her head.

Clarke’s stomach dropped as the world tilted on its axis and her arms flailed out for balance… _too late_. She careened into the wall of the first floor corridor and retched. But nothing came out even as her insides heaved. Her vision blurred and flashed with blinding light at the insistent, pulsing pain in her head.

“Hey! Are you oka--” the voice halted abruptly. Then a sharp inhale, “Costia?”  

Clarke didn’t know what the voice - _that_ voice - was saying; it didn’t make any sense, but the soft timbre of it pulled her slowly from the darkness. Her watery eyes lifted to the soft planes of a feminine face haloed by honey-brown hair. A name swam forward from the depths of her muddled consciousness. _Lexa._

The girl’s light green eyes were blown wide, but when Clarke turned to face her they cleared and a flush spread across the girl’s creamy skin.

“Sorry-- You just-- You looked-- With you hair down-- Sorry. It doesn’t matter. Are you okay?” The girl - Lexa - finished her earlier question. She had knelt down beside Clarke so that she was eye-level with where the Slytherin had crumpled.

Clarke’s head pounded as she tried to find the words. “It’s my-- I can’t-- my head.”

“Migraine, huh?” The brunette smiled in a friendly way and something about the curve of her lips made Clarke’s breadth catch. “I get those sometimes. Real pain. May I?”

She was pointing her wand at Clarke’s head. There was a moment of pure panic which flashed hot through Clarke’s body. Her hand twitched defensively towards her own wand… then she comprehended slowly that the action was not hostile. She tried to laugh, taking in the questioning look on the Gryffindor’s face. It couldn’t hurt to have help.

“Do your worst,” Clarke urged gruffly.

Lexa smirked and Clarke’s eyes darted to the girl’s lips as they parted to whisper a spell. Sweet, cool relief flooded the Slytherin’s head and she actually felt each muscles relax in turn. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Clarke exhaled, blinking. “Thanks.”

Lexa gave her a hand and pulled Clarke to her feet, “Don’t mention it. It’s a Gryffindor thing… the chivalry, I mean.”

“I like it,” the words escaped Clarke’s lips before her mind fully recovered.

The brunette’s brows shot up and she barked out a laugh, her green eyes grazing over Clarke. “Bellamy didn’t tell me you were funny.”

She flushed. _Right._ Lexa was Bellamy’s friend.

“Yeah, well he doesn’t know everything about me.”

“I certainly hope not.”

They stared at each other and for some inexplicable reason Clarke felt her cheeks grow warm at the inspection.

“Oh you--” Lexa’s hand reached towards her then hesitated. She cleared her throat, “You missed a button.”

Clarke looked down and then quickly back up as she felt the shadow of her migraine rise again. Her brows furrowed. “Uh, it’s fine.”

“Here,” Lexa stepped closer and her slender fingers nimbly fastened the forgotten button. Clarke’s breath stalled for a fraction of a second as she stared at the Gryffindor. Lexa’s eyes were the most vivid green she had ever seen, like pools of water in some forest grotto, or fresh moss, or the stem of a lily, or…

“Right, well--” Lexa stepped back. Again that tick of clearing her throat. “Class. Are you headed to Defense?”

Clarke nodded and then blurted out, “Thanks. Again.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lexa tossed her that trademark smirk. “Gryffindor, remember?”

But Clarke thought the excuse didn’t ring quite as true as the first time Lexa said it. They walked down the hallway in a strange silence, one that made Clarke glance more than a few times at the other girl to try and read her expression. However, the Gryffindor was still a mystery to Clarke by the time they had entered the classroom together.

Clarke felt her cheeks flush for the third time that day as everyone’s heads swiveled to see who was late. Indra pursed her lips at the pair, but said nothing and turned back to the assembled crowd. Lexa grinned and winked at Clarke, as if the silence between them had never existed, before heading off to join the other members of her house. The Slytherin forced herself not to stare after the strangely bewitching girl and instead bee-lined for Emori and Echo. The latter of the two gave her a death glare that Clarke felt certain had been in place all morning.

The classroom looked larger than usual as if it had been magically expanded. More bodies filled the space than she had ever seen in any of her previous Defense classes. In fact, as Clarke looked around she realized that it was not simply Slytherins and Gryffindors who were present, or even the entire Sixth Year class, but all of the houses for both Fifth and Sixth Years.

The desks and benches that usually filled the room had vanished, leaving plenty of space for the students to occupy. The large windows which stretched all the way to the ceiling were exposed, their heavy curtains drawn back to let in the morning light.

When Clarke squeezed in next to Emori, the girl flashed her a quick, questing smile which Clarke returned reassuringly.

“Welcome everyone,” Indra’s commanding voice resonated throughout the large room. “Please, _do_ get comfortable.”

Clarke’s eyes roved around the room and its alterations with equal suspense and curiosity. She found her gaze being drawn back to Lexa and was surprised to find a different pair of eyes staring at her, darker eyes of deep brown. Clarke looked away quickly, but not before she caught the questioning tilt of Bellamy’s head. She pretended to ignore the pair of them even though she could see their animated discussion out of the corner of her vision. The two weren’t even paying attention to class. Clarke’s stomach dropped as Bellamy broke away from his friend.

“Now I’m sure all of you are--” Indra’s voice trailed off as Bellamy marched across the classroom. He seemed oblivious to the blatant stares of both students and professor. _Or perhaps he just doesn’t care?_ The Professor’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” he stopped beside her still oblivious. His dark gaze roved up and down her form as if to check for any abnormalities. His shoulders loosened when he seemed to register than she was fine… physically at least.

“Hey yourself,” Clarke snapped back. “ _You’re making a scene_.”

“Are you quite done, Mr. Blake?” Indra’s steely voice rang out from behind the Gryffindor.

“Yes, Professor,” he answered without turning around. Bellamy gave the Fifth Year boy to Clarke’s left a tight smile before shuffling in next to her.

Indra’s eyes sparked challengingly, “Excellent, then let us continue.”

“What are you doing?” Clarke hissed at him without turning her head.

“Lexa said you were sick.”  

“Well, Lexa talks too much.”

Clarke’s retort was lost as the professor once again addressed the class, “Now, I’m sure many of you are wondering why I’ve combined the Fifth _and_ Sixth Years’ Defense Classes. It is unusual; however, in light of recent events, the Headmaster and myself believe it would be best if all of you mastered practical ways to defend yourself.”

“You mean your going to teach of us how to duel?” an excited Fifth Year spoke up, but Bellamy barely spared him a second glance. He sideyed Clarke trying to see if there was anything he’d missed in his initial appraisal. She did seem paler than normal. There were bags under her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. Her hair… her hair wasn’t up in its usual bun or braid. It fell in soft platinum waves around her face. Bellamy forced his gaze back to the excited Fifth Year.

“You’re quite right, Mr. Evans. However, I urge you all to not get ahead of yourselves. We will be starting with defensive spells first. The ability to defend yourself will always be more important than your ability to attack others.”

“This is about Atom, isn’t it?” It was Octavia who spoke up this time. Bellamy’s eyes darted to her and he felt a pang of guilt for the harsh way he’d spoken to Atom the last time they talked. But he couldn’t have known… There was no way to know.

“Yes, Ms. Blake. You are correct,” Indra replied.

“Have they heard anything else?”

“Do they know where he went?”

“What happened to him?” Questions started to flood the room from every corner, swelling with increasing ferocity.

“You know everything I do, I’m afraid,” Indra stated calmly. “As Headmaster Jaha explained the other night, we do not know why Atom has left us. Only that he has. The proper authorities have been contacted and the Headmaster is communicating with the boy’s family. Hopefully, we will know more soon. Now, _please_ , the goal of this class is to help all of you be more prepared, more vigilant, more capable. So I need your absolute attention to be in this classroom.”

The room fell silent as her strong voice rebounded off the walls. No one spoke, but students still shuffled restlessly. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now.

The professor continued, “Let us begin. Start by turning to the person beside you… They are now your partner for the foreseeable future. You will practice in and outside of class with this person. As your final exam for this term, you and your partner will be tested against another pair. Is that clear?”

Bellamy watched as Clarke swiveled slowly to look at him. Her expression was one of mild annoyance and was not unfamiliar to the Gryffindor, but he could tell she wasn’t _actually_ mad.

Bellamy grinned, “Hey, partner.”

“Oh, shut up,” she shook her head at him.

He glanced swiftly back at Lexa who gave him an irritated eyebrow raise. He had promised he would partner with her for their next Defense project… Bellamy shrugged his shoulders by way of an apology, but she just rolled her eyes and he knew she would have some choice words for him later.

Indra’s voice rang out above the murmur of students, “Find space around the room. Face off. We’re going to start with a series of defensive spells. You should all know _Protego_ by now, but I would like you to master its many forms. The sustained shield, the rebounded shield, and the mobile shield. Begin.”

Bellamy backed up and turned to face Clarke as a chorus of _‘protego’_ filled the air.

He raised his wand, “She was just trying to be helpful, you know?”

“Who?” Clarke raised her own wand.

“Lexa.”

“Oh, yeah.” Clarke’s cheeks reddened. “It’s fine. I just had a rough morning.”

“It’s only 10 A.M.”

“Shut up, Blake. I’m trying to cast a damn shield spell and you’re distracting me.”

He sniggered even as he cast his own milky white dome over himself. Hers bloomed equally fast.

“The sustained shield is most helpful on oneself,” Indra stalked around the room, weaving between the pairs and giving tips as she went. “You can cast and holds its protection for a prolonged period of time. And when you become more advanced you can even make an independent, temporary shield, like an invisible ward, which will remain in place while you switch to offense. But… I doubt any of you are quite at _that_ level yet.”

Clarke snorted, “This is child’s play.”

“Big words, Griffin, but your shield is wavering.”

“I told you I had a bad morning.”

“Excuses,” Bellamy smirked, teasing her.

“While the rebounded shield is particularly good for redirecting curses away from oneself, the mobile shield will enable you to protect something or _someone_ outside of your immediate radius _._ Try focusing on your partner and imagine casting a protective net around them as you say the incantation. Yes, like that Trikru. Good.”

Bellamy raised his wand and tried to focus on what Indra had saying, but his eyes darted back to his best friend. His stomach dropped as he saw that Lexa and Octavia had been paired. He supposed when he had moved towards Clarke, his absence must have inadvertently left them side by side. Neither looked happy. He cringed knowing that he would being getting an earful from _both_ of them later.

He attempted to project the mobile shield on Clarke even as she did the same to him. To his increased annoyance and admiration, she seemed to have no trouble despite her bad morning. Her shield shimmered around him effortlessly while his flickered pitifully around her blonde tresses. He really had to stop staring at her hair.

“Bloody hell!” A crash and a muttered oath sounded from the other side of the room. The classroom paused as Lexa righted herself out of the steel arms of a crumpled suit of armor into which she had crashed. Her expression was murderous.

“Ms. Blake,” Professor Indra called sternly. “There is a difference between a mobile shield and a rebounded shield. Try not to rebound your partner.”   

Bellamy watched as Lexa squared off against Octavia again and had to consciously fight the urge to jump in and mediate the two. He really needed to let them figure it out on their own even if it went against his nature. He’d been intervening all summer and it hadn’t helped.

“You’re not concentrating hard enough,” Clarke’s voice brought him back to their side of the room. “That’s why your shield is flickering.”

He snorted, “Tell me something I don’t know, Princess.”

She glared right through him at the nickname. He wasn’t sure why he still used it. They were passed all that, really. But there was something about the way her eyes sparked when he said it. The icy blue flared to life and he felt like, even just for a moment, he was staring at something more real and honest than either one of them knew how to be on their own. Plus, it left him a little breathless. The way her eyes caught fire and burned. He forgot how to breathe or what air even tasted like.

“You’re still not concentrating.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly and swallowed, “I know.”

A few pairs over, Raven’s smirk turned into a sneer as she backed away from her partner. _Of all the people in the class, she had to be stuck with--_

“Come on, Reyes. I know you can do better than _that_. Aren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be smart?” Murphy drawled lazily as her milky shield fluttered then dissolved into thin air.

“I guess I’m just having trouble finding the motivation to protect you. _Murphy._ ”

“Tsk. Tsk. What happened to the rational, practical tenants of Ravenclaw? This is just a class and I’m just another student.”

“ _You’re a fucking cockroach is what you are,_ ” Raven muttered under her breath as her newest attempt at a mobile shield deteriorated. God, she hated him and his insipid, pasty face.

“What did you call me?”

“A cockroach,” she snapped. “I called you a cockroach, Murphy.”

He chuckled darkly, “I love it when you get feisty. Really gets me going.”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting. You have a girlfriend, asshole. She’s literally right over there.”

“So?” He cocked his head to the side. “She knows I just do it to ruffle your feathers, _Raven._ ”

She glared daggers at him and flicked her wand with one subtle movement of her wrist. The instrument stayed by her side, its motion barely perceptible, but Murphy’s eyes widened and he shifted on his feet.

“Cut it out, Reyes.”

“What was that?”

“I said _cut it out_!” His voice rose as he started to dance on to the balls of his feet… almost as if he was standing on hot coals. Another flick of her wand and he relaxed, but perspiration still shone brightly on his forehead.

“How do _your_ feather feel now, Murphy? Ruffled enough?”

“Bitch,” he spat out. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear but her. Raven grinned.

“Mr. Murphy,” Indra’s sharp voice rang out from a few rows down as she approached the two. “Why haven’t you practiced your shield spell yet?”

“I was just trying to be a gentleman, Professor. I know how eager Ravenclaws are to show off.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Indra’s voice held dry sarcasm. “Next time follow my instructions and try not to think so much.”

Murphy’s pale skin flushed a satisfying shade of fuschia. He turned back to Raven and raised his wand as the professor stalked off to another pair. His brows pushed together.

Raven inspected her cuticles, “If you’re trying to get even, Murphy, don’t bother. I’ve had a sustained shield around myself since we started.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Reyes,” he sneered as a thin silver dome enveloped her and then disintegrated. Raven’s skin crawled. He had managed to hold the shield longer than her. She wanted to hex his face off.

Instead she glanced around the room to check everyone else’s progress with the spell. Harper and Monty seemed less focused on casting a shield than they were on making mooneyes at each other. Jasper was with some Fifth Year Hufflepuff. Raven had seen the girl a few times with Harper and remembered that her name was Maya. Jasper was flailing his arms and making the girl laugh so hard that her shield did little more than flicker. Raven snorted.

Raven’s mind wandered as she and Murphy took turns practicing their shields, the repetition of the same spells getting old quickly. She wished the Seventh Years were training with them. Though no doubt they were learning far more advanced magic. Her skin itched just thinking about it. Maybe she would ask Indra if she could switch groups. Just for this assignment. Then she could duel with Roan. Now, _that_ would be fun _._

Raven’s gaze fell on a head of blonde hair a few pairs over. _Clarke._ A dull ache still settled in her stomach when she looked at the Slytherin, but it was bearable.

“Gone mute, Reyes?” Murphy’s annoying drawl brought her back.

“Just tired of listening to you whine, Murphy.”

“Then it’s good class is over, isn’t it? Don’t forget your list of spells to practice. I can’t have you pulling my grade down.” He jerked his head towards the chalkboard.

Raven scoffed, “As if that’s even possible.”  

She threw him a rude gesture and made her way to the board without another word. After pulling out pen and paper, she hurriedly scribbled down the assignment. A flash of blonde caught her eye when she turned to leave. Before she could think about the ramifications, Raven was jogging after the Slytherin and shouting her name.

“Clarke! Wait up!”

The surprise and trepidation was written so clearly on the blonde’s face that Raven almost laughed when she caught up to her. _Almost_.

“I…” The word trailed off as the other students brushed by the two, jostling them until they stood by the edge of hallway.

“Look, I…” Raven tried again, fighting the swell of embarrassment at the awkwardness of the situation. “I just wanted to say that you don’t have to worry-- you don’t have to be afraid of me-- I’m not going to--”

“I’m not afraid of you,” the blonde blurted then bit her cheek as if to hold back whatever other words wanted to spill out.

Raven raised her eyebrows, “Okay, well, I just wanted to say that we’re good. You and I.”

The girl just kept staring at Raven with an inscrutable expression on her face, so Raven took the hint and began to walk off with a casual shrug.

“Why?”

The singular word stopped Raven short and she swung back around. “What?”

Clarke shook her head, blonde curls tossing, “I mean, I’m sorry, Raven I’m sorry… about everything.”

“You already said that. In your letter.”

“It wasn’t really a letter.”

Raven shrugged again, “It was enough.”

She remembered the letter clearly. Just a slip of parchment with the three words _‘I’m so sorry.’_ signed by a mysterious _‘Clarke.’_ The note had been tied with black ribbon which held in place a small, silver figurine depicting a doe. It had been that piece of metal more than the written words which had tipped off Raven to Finn’s cheating. The doe was identical in style and material to the silver crane he had made for her. More than that, Raven had seen it - the doe - nearly complete on the workbench in the shed. She’d thought it was another gift and it was… just not for her.  

It stung. It _still_ sting. But not as deep, not nearly as deep as before.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke was saying again, though she had said it numerous times now.

Raven almost brushed it off, but then hesitated. There was something she wanted to know. A question that had nagged at her ever since finding out.

“Did you know? About me?”

“No,” Clarke shook her head vehemently. “God, no.”

“Then you have nothing to be sorry for. He played you as much as he played me.”

“You-- um… You make a great Ravenclaw,” Clarke offered lamely. “You’re very rational, I mean. I imagined this going _very_ differently.”

Raven snorted, “You should have seen me three months ago.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Me too.”

“So, we’re good?” Clarke asked awkwardly. Raven could still clearly see the trepidation in her eyes.

“Yeah, Clarke. We’re good.” Raven offered the Slytherin a smile and found the action wasn't quite as hard as she thought it would be.

On the other side of the hall, Octavia paused, watching the pair. She had intended to walk with Raven to their next classes as the two usually did; however, when she saw the brunette barrel out after Clarke Griffin - the newest Slytherin Princess - her interest in waiting had severely decreased. The awkwardness oozed from the pair like a gaseous fog and Octavia wanted to be nowhere near if it combusted.

If things went south, she’d probably hex Clarke into oblivion for her friend and then she’d have to deal with an irate Bellamy. Octavia didn’t know what was so fascinating about the new girl that had everyone - including her brother’s - knickers in a twist. The blonde acted so haughty and arrogant, way too much trouble for Octavia’s tastes. Plus, Clarke didn’t appreciate the attention she was receiving. She didn’t realize that it was a form of power. The girl was a terrible Slytherin.

Octavia threw Raven a wave when she caught the older girl’s eyes and then headed off to her next class: Muggle Studies.

The day passed at an excruciatingly slow pace. It probably was like any other day, but each incidental run-in with Lincoln between her classes ratcheted Octavia’s nerves up five levels.

He brushed by her in the hallway outside of the Transfiguration classroom. He lingered in the corridor long enough to flash her a smile before she started History of Magic. Barely a word passed between them, but the heat of his gaze and the gentle brush of his fingers against hers, as if by accident, had her stomach performing cartwheels. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t think.

When she finally got out of Potions - her last class of the day - Octavia nearly tripped on the doorframe in her haste to exit the classroom. She couldn’t remember what _his_ last lecture was on Thursdays, but she would…

Her breath caught. Lincoln was standing right outside the door, his tall frame leant against the stone wall of the dungeon, hands shoved into his pockets as they so often were. A smile tugged at her lips.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked casually.

“Mm-hmm.”

She arched her eyebrows and took as step closer, “Do I know her?”  

“Yes.”

Another step, “She must be a very lucky girl.”

“Yes,” he chuckled and his husky voice sent a shiver down Octavia’s spine.

“That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?” She closed the distance between them. “Yes? Yes, yes, _yes_ \--”

Octavia laughed as he pulled her to him. Lincoln’s head ducked down and he placed a soft kiss against her lips. She groaned in disappointed when he pulled back. One kiss wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Come on,” she urged and her hand slipped easily into his as she led him out of the dim bowels of the castle.

He laced their fingers together as he followed her, tracing warm circles against her palm. Something deep inside her fluttered and clenched sweetly at his touch. She picked up the pace, nearly dragging them up the stairs. She couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait.

Lincoln pulled her down an empty corridor on the third floor. They barely rounded the corner from the stairwell before Octavia felt her back pressed against the rough fabric of a tapestry. The threaded figure squawked at the assault, making Octavia jump as the shrill noise rang in her ears. Laughter burst from the Gryffindor as Lincoln picked her up and shifted them down the corridor to a blank, silent, stone wall.

The playful, mischievous look in Lincoln’s eyes took her breath away. It was so different from his usual, stoic presence that the sight of it became precious to Octavia and stoked the embers in her belly.

His tongue slid against her lips, followed by his teeth which nipped gently, pulling at the plump flesh. Her heart stuttered in her chest and then caught fire. Octavia’s lips surged forward to meet his, fingers gripping the smooth skin of his neck to pull him closer. He could never be close enough.

Lincoln ground his hips into hers and Octavia’s eyes rolled back at the heady friction. She knew they were in a public hallway. She knew someone, anyone, could walk by at any moment… But she didn't care. She wanted Lincoln. She wanted him to fuck her against the wall, against the suits of armor, against the window, _against the damn tapestry_.

Some rational part of her brain that rarely existed knew the intensity of this should be frightening, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. _Holy founders_ …  

Voices filtered to them down the corridor. The sconces on the walls had brightened and students were beginning to leave the library for dinner. But it was more than that. It was the one particularly deep voice that quenched every ounce of fire boiling inside Octavia. Bellamy’s voice… _Holy. Founders. No._

Octavia moved without thinking, shoving herself and Lincoln into the nearest unlocked door.

“What the--”

“Shh!”

Their ragged breathing sounded amplified in the pitch black of whatever room they had stumbled into. Octavia leaned against the door as she fumbled for her wand, but Lincoln beat her to it.

“ _Lumos_.”

Light flared from the tip of his wand illuminating their less than glamorous surroundings. A bucket of dirty water lay at their feet beside a ratty mop that had black spots which looked a little too much like mold. She had pushed them into an abandoned broom closet.

“Octavia,” Lincoln breathed out. “What’s going on?”

“Bell-- my brother. He was coming down the hall.”

Lincoln shook his head and smiled. “We could have just stopped kissing.”

“No, Bellamy would _know_ something was up. He’s not stupid.”

The smile fell from Lincoln’s face. “Something was up…” he repeated her slowly. “You mean you haven’t told him? About me-- us? That we’re… seeing each other?”

“Of course not,” Octavia said easily. She hadn’t even considered telling Bellamy for a second. She knew what he was like.

“Are you _going_ to tell him?”

“No,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t even tell him if we had children in ten years.”

Lincoln’s voice became stony, “This isn’t a joke, Octavia.”

“Does it look like I’m laughing?” she snapped back. “You don’t know my brother. Not like I--”

“Did you tell anyone? Any of your friends?”

 _Lie. Lie. Lie,_ her mind chanted and she meant to, but when Octavia opened her mouth the truth just slipped out. “No.”

Lincoln sighed and ran a hand - his wand hand - over his face, making the light ricochet around their little closet. Octavia wanted to reach out, to touch him, to bring them back to where they’d been only ten minutes ago, but when she tried his shoulders stiffened.

“Octavia, I like you. A lot. I think we’ve established that. But I’m not a Fifth Year,” Octavia stepped back as if she’d been slapped, but he continued, oblivious. “I don’t want to just fool around in broom closets. I want to date you. And if you’re embarrassed by me or don’t feel comfortable telling your friends, _your own brother,_ than maybe that isn’t what you want too.”

Her heart clenched. He didn’t understand. It wasn’t about him.

“Lincoln--” she put her hands up to stop him as he reached for the door handle behind her.

“Just… just let me know what you decide. Okay?” The words fell heavy between them and before she could say anything to ease the tension, he was gone. The small light in the closet winked out, leaving her in darkness.  
Octavia groaned and slumped against the door, waiting a few minutes before making her own exit. She joined the crowd heading downstairs to dinner, even as her mind raced in loops. She didn’t want to tell Bellamy. She knew how he would react. He would ruin it, like he ruined all her previous relationships. And this was different. _Lincoln was different._ He was infinitely more precious than anyone she had dated before. How could she show that to him? _By doing what he asked you to do,_ her mind snapped at her.

Octavia huffed out a sigh as she reached the ground floor. Her eyes caught on Lexa where the older girl stood by the front door and her mood descended further still. After everything… and then earlier. Octavia cringed as she remembered Lexa flying back into a suit of armor in Defence class. It had been an accident. Well… mostly an accident. Like seventy percent an accident. Octavia considered apologizing, something she rarely did, but before she could take a step towards the older girl, Anya materialized out of the crowd and her desire to interrupt plummeted. _Plus_ , she reasoned, _the damage was done long before today._

“You ready?” Anya’s lithe voice drew Lexa’s attention. She smiled tightly at her girlfriend before giving her a quick kiss in greeting.

“What are we doing?” Lexa demanded. “You know I hate surprises.”

“I know, I know! But… you had such a nice one for me last time and I wanted to do something special for you.”

Lexa snorted. Anya was being generous. Her plan had been an epic disaster despite her meticulous organization beforehand.

“Okay, then,” the Gryffindor tried to sound excited even though not knowing had her on edge. Lexa was used to pushing unwanted emotions aside, so she locked her anxiety in a tight metal box at the back of her mind.

The two walked outside onto the lawn. The sun had just set, bathing everything in a dusky purple glow. Storm clouds brewed just beyond the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

“Are you sure…?”

“It’ll be fine, come on!” Anya grasped Lexa’s hand tightly and pulled her forward. The Gryffindor took a deep breath and, again, tried to relax, feeling the lid of that box crack open.

“Was your day as weird as mine? Indra had all the Seventh Years together for Defense. We’re learning offensive spells for dueling now... since that kid disappeared.”

“Can we not talk about the missing kid while we’re walking outside in the dark?” Lexa’s voice was as tight as the ache in her chest. She hadn’t known Atom well, but she recognized his face and now he was gone. Just _gone._ How could someone disappear so quickly, so completely?

“I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be fearless.”

“I’m not afraid, Anya. Something just feels wrong about it, okay?”

“Okay. No need to bite my head off.”

“Sorry,” Lexa closed her eyes for a beat. “Defense was weird for us too. Indra had Fifth and Sixth Years together--”

“Fifth Years too?”

“Yeah. I got partnered with Octavia because Bellamy went fucking googly eyed when I told him Clarke wasn’t feeling well.”

Anya’s hand tightened briefly around hers. The storm clouds were rolling closer.

“You saw Clarke?”

Lexa nodded, “Yeah, she almost fainted in the hallway. She had a migraine or something. Is she feeling better?”

“How would I know?”

Lexa reeled from the sharpness in Anya’s voice. It was just a question.

“I mean, I thought-- I thought the two of you were close--”

“We’re not,” the Slytherin said firmly. “We’re not close.”

“Okay,” Lexa offered, but it didn’t help. The air between them still crackled with tension and she didn’t know why.

They had barely made it halfway onto the lawn when the storm clouds broke overhead. Fat droplets of rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking the two. Anya pulled on Lexa’s hand and they ran for the closest shelter.

The first bolt of lightning split the sky as they clambered into the glass-paned greenhouse. The electric blue light brought the botanical menagerie to life for a brief moment and then plunged them into darkness.

“Damn it!” Anya cursed, dropping Lexa’s hand. The Gryffindor’s skin felt cold and clammy from the rain and the electricity in the air made the hair on her arms stand on end. The scuff of boots against gravel met Lexa’s ears and with the next bolt of lightning, she saw that Anya was pacing back and forth with a hand in her hair. The girl looked wrecked.

“Hey, hey,” Lexa tried to reach for her in the darkness. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! I had everything planned. It was going to be perfect.”

Lexa found her blindly and pulled the older girl into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around the Slytherin’s slim waist.

“You can’t control the weather, Anya.”

“It was going to be perfect,” she repeated quietly.  

“Don’t be upset,” Lexa murmured against her girlfriend’s hair. She wasn’t good at comforting people. She knew that. It always made her uneasy. But Lexa tried her best now to emulate what she saw other people do. She stroked Anya’s back in smooth, slow movements. “It’s okay. Don’t be upset.”

Then because she couldn’t help herself, Lexa asked, “Why does _this_ matter so much to you?”

Anya stiffened in her arms, but then sighed, “I just wanted it to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect.”

“Well, I don’t need it to be perfect. This is just fine for me.” Lexa said the words Anya needed to hear. And Lexa believed them to be true… at least she felt like they were… or they could be. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the greenhouse. The rain clattered noisily against the glass room, broken by the thunder rumbling overhead.

Anya shook her head and mumbled something. Something barely intelligible about how they needed this. But it was the last words that caused Lexa’s heart to clench. They were true, those three words, and the truth of them silenced her. Lexa didn’t know what else to say or do so she let the words hang between them, creating space even though their bodies were pressed together. _You don’t understand._ Lexa locked those three words away in that small metal box, along with her anxiety and all the other things she wasn’t allowed to feel.

The storm sounded distant and soothing from within the walls of the Gryffindor common room. It had been raging outside for a few hours now and seemed to have no intention of stopping anytime soon. The fire crackled happily in the hearth, sending orange light over the already warm tones of the decor. The room seemed cozy and perfect to Raven as she snuggled closer to Roan’s warm chest.

He hummed deeply at the contact and the noise sent a pleasant vibration down Raven’s spine. One of his hands played lazily with the ends of her hair. If it were earlier in the day, she might have swatted his hand away, but right now it actually felt quite nice. Nearly everyone had gone to bed and Raven knew she should be heading back to her own bed soon… but not just yet. She was too warm and the storm outside was too soothing and his hands were doing marvelous things.

Roan’s broad fingers brushed featherlight touches across her shoulders and down her arms in an almost absent-minded fashion. The innocent caresses were igniting embers within her, embers that wanted to catch fire and die in a blaze of glory.

Raven half-hummed, half-sighed as his knuckles grazed over the side of her breast in his perusal of her arm. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks, in months really. An invisible weight had been lifted off of her shoulders when she talked to Clarke. It had been awkward, but inevitable. Almost like the passing of a train on the tracks. Raven had known it was coming and when the train finally arrived, the rush of wind it brought with it had frightened her. She had been afraid of being sucked into that dark space between the train and the tracks and that fear could have consumed her. But she didn’t let it and the train passed. She was still standing. A weight had been lifted.

A small smile played at the corner of Raven’s mouth, turning the edges skyward. She twisted in Roan’s arms to look at him. His hand stilled against her shoulder as her brown eyes clashed with the palest blue of his. They had fallen into each other comfortably. She hadn’t expected anything to come of it, but the fire she felt between them was too intense to be mistaken. She’d taken things slowly. Given herself time to assess whether she was ready, ready to move past Finn in any tangible way. Raven knew that when she had sex with Roan it would be more than just casual. They weren’t a couple by any means, but there was something between them that was more substantial than the alternative. She felt it pulsating in every interaction as easily as she felt the warmth of the hearth fire.

His blue-grey eyes watched her as she stared him, content to let her observe him in that rational, Ravenclaw way she had. It didn’t bother him, which was nice. It had always made Finn nervous.

She leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and pressed her lips slowly against his. Once. Twice. Three times. She took her time with the third kiss, coaxing, pulling his bottom lip away from the other. Then she leaned back and observed him again. His eyes had darkened by miles and his pupils were blown out like stars. She smiled slyly at his response and shifted against him.

Air forced its way through his clenched teeth, hissing, as their hips rubbed together.

“I thought you wanted to wait,” he whispered huskily.

“I’m done waiting,” Raven hummed against his lips. “I want you. Here. _Now_. Is that gonna be a problem?”

Roan shook his head, smirking, “You had me at ‘I’m done waiting.’”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned in for another slow kiss, but he nipped at her lips.

“Not literally _here_. Come on.” He stood and pulled Raven with him, all but dragging them up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory.

“Shh,” he whispered as they crept past the room’s other sleeping occupants. Someone snored in the corner.

Raven kicked off her shoes and rolled into his four-poster. He pulled the curtains closed behind them, casting his grinning face into darkness. Raven quickly raised her wand and muttered a silencing spell. One could never be too careful. Their ragged breathing filled the enclosed air as they both hastily shucked their clothes. It was like trying to peel off a second skin with their two bodies taking up the limited space. But in a matter of seconds, lightly peppered kisses, and a few bumps of their head they both sat naked in his bed.

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness inside the four-poster. The flickering of the lightning outside was just a faint shadow here, illuminating Roan’s face with inconsistent, obstructed light.

Nervousness bubbled to the surface, but it was met with a thrill of excitement as he reached out  and pulled her down on top of his silken sheet. The smell of him surrounded her, claiming every one of her senses. It was the smell of pine, brown sugar, bonfires, and something else, something metallic and masculine. Her head spun with it as his lips found hers in the partial darkness.

He kissed a trail of teasing, tonguing, caresses down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. Sweet, exquisitely sharp, pleasure spiked in her nipples as he paid homage to each one, a man starved for thirst. She arched off the mattress, gasping, as he explored lower, lower, lower still. He kissed the inside of each thigh tenderly. She almost whimpered when he pulled away, but held the noise in by sheer willpower. His face was set in subtle contrast as he reared back to look at her sprawled naked on his mattress.  

 _“Fuck, you’re beautiful,_ ” he cursed softly, his words uttered like a prayer or a blessing.

Raven’s stomach clenched and heat pooled between her legs at the intensity of his gaze. He was going to devour her.

Her breath hitched as he dove back down between her legs. Then she really did whimper as the heat of his mouth clamped over her core. Her head tossed to the side, her breath became heavy, stilted. A hand fisted his hair. A hand fisted the sheets as he _devoured_ her. As he sucked, and nipped, and licked, bringing her higher, higher, higher until the world shattered in a crack of lightning, in a boom of thunder, in the smoldering fire which burned inside of her, the same fire which lived inside his eyes.

Raven tried to breathe, tried to think as he kissed his way back up her body, stopping at her lips. She tasted herself on him. It felt erotic and sensual and she couldn’t help the deep laugh which bubbled up inside her.

“I hope you have a condom.”

“Of course I have a condom.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He echoed her laugh and it was a deep, rich laugh that made her toes curl. She knew this would be different. Different than anything she’s had with Finn. Roan didn’t know her body, didn’t know exactly how she liked to be touched, to be fucked, to be made love to… but this was different. It had already been different. It was new and exciting and they would learn. They would learn together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this story, please review and tell me what you think! I _love_ hearing your reactions. They give me fuel to keep going!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to amandapsferraz, just_cassie_carlson, Kia, and H for commenting on the last chapter. You guys don't know how happy each comment makes me. It's like a little gift and I truly appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts with me :)

Chapter 12:  
_** Secrets, Secrets ** _

* * *

I've been upside down  
I don't wanna be the right way round  
Can't find paradise on the ground

All we do is hide away  
All we do is chase the day

All we do is play it safe  
All we do is live inside a cage  
**All We Do - Oh Wonder**

* * *

The flagstones felt like ice under Raven’s bare feet as she padded the length of the seventh floor, her sturdy boots dangling by their laces from one hand. The dull grey light creeping through the hall windows emphasized the early hour and Raven recognized sluggishly that it could hardly be later than six o’clock. She could have slept longer in Roan’s bed… but she didn’t relish the thought of waking up in a room full of 7th year boys.

Raven smiled as she recalled the lazy, half-asleep kisses Roan had given her when she rolled out of his bed. It had been a _good_ night. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this gloriously sore from sex. It had taken her and Roan some time to get synced up, but that was to be expected. Plus, the guy had the stamina of a Greek god. Raven was fairly sure she’d only slept for a total of two hours before her body’s natural clock woke her up. She planned on sleeping for at least three more once she made it back to her own bed.

Aelis - the bronze guardian of Ravenclaw tower - squawked unhappily at being roused so early, but the riddle was easy enough and Raven left the poor creature to sleep almost as quickly as she had startled him. A yawn fought its way to the surface when she entered the shadowed common room as if her body knew it was home and just minutes away from a feathery pillow.

Her cold toes curled into the plush carpet and a sigh of relief escaped as she dropped her boots to the floor. The sconces along the far wall flickered to life at her movement and Raven blinked as the circular common room came into sharp relief then froze, startled to find she wasn’t alone.

Jasper’s lanky form was folded awkwardly into one of the winged, high-back chairs. His head lolled at an odd angle, his breath a soft rumble in his chest. Raven grinned, shaking her head, and decided to give him hell about his snoring as soon as he woke.

For now, Raven simply pulled a wool blanket from the cream-colored couch and draped it over her friend. He obviously hadn’t intended on falling asleep down here or he would have chosen a more comfortable pseudo-bed. She was almost finished tucking the blanket around his shoulders when Jasper’s breathing stalled and his amber eyes fluttered open.

Raven straightened, her hands falling to her side, “Hey.”

His bleary gaze widened as he registered who stood before him.

“Oh, thank god,” he straightened and had his arms around her before Raven could process his words.

“You okay?” she breathed out, confused.  Her hands reached up to pat him gently on the back; he was going to snap her in two with the force of his hug.

“Am I okay?” his voice next to her ear was quietly indignant. “Are _you_ okay? I was so worried! Where the hell were you, Raven?”

The girl in question cleared her throat as her friend finally let go and stepped back. Jasper’s eyes traveled down her, stopping at her bare feet. She opened her mouth to answer him as his gaze narrowed, but nothing came out. A blush rose as she struggled for the right words. Instead, she settled on the easiest ones.

“It’s none of your business.”

Hurt flashed across his features, then confusion, and Raven turned away as comprehension finally dawned. She didn’t need his judgment. He had no right.

“You were with Roan? Seriously?”

“Jasper go back to sleep,” she snapped, frustrated that he was managing to make her feel guilty. “Like I said, it’s none of your business. And honestly— Wait, were you _waiting_ down here for me?”

Jasper opened his mouth then clamped it shut, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe her. Like he wasn’t the one overreacting. Raven clenched her teeth, feeling her barriers rise at his disbelief.

“I don’t need someone keeping tabs on me,” she bit out. “That’s ridiculous, even for you.”

“What does _that_ mean?” his voice pitched higher, but Raven ignored him.

“Why were you waiting for me? I know you don’t like Roan, but really? You’re my friend. Not my mom. I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing or where I am 24/7.”

The tall boy stepped away from her and the arms that had just embraced her crossed defensively over his chest.

He laughed hollowly, “You’re right, Raven. I’m sorry for _worrying_ . Sorry for wondering where my friend was when no one had seen her for _hours_ . It’s not like a student went missing last week. It’s not like _no one_ has any answers for what happened to him. You’re absolutely right. What was I thinking?”

Guilt curdled in her stomach as Jasper’s words washed over her.

“Jasper-”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll tell Monty you’re just fine. He wasn’t worried either.”

“Jasper-”

“It’s fine, Raven,” he growled and stormed off towards the boys’ dormitory before she could think of something to say that would appease him.

Raven sighed, fatigue seeping into her very bones as if the lack of sleep had only just caught up to her. He had a point, obviously. But so did she and right now Raven couldn’t think straight. She just needed another few hours of sleep and then she would diffuse whatever _that_ was. It could wait a few hours. Her tired legs carried her all the way upstairs before giving out when she reached her four-poster. Sleep claimed Raven as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Out on the Quidditch pitch with the sun barely peeking over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, two figures flew between the opposing goal posts, making lazy figure eights. Lexa pulled the zipper of her fleece higher against the chill morning air, then turned her broom to plummet towards the ground. Swift hand work brought her sharply up again into a half curve, knees almost grazing the damp grass below. She climbed swiftly higher and tried to ignore the stinging of her exposed face. The wind was vicious this morning.

Lexa’s gaze flicked across the field while she pulled a tight circle. On the other side of the pitch, Bellamy traced a loose figure eight - the same motion he’d been repeating for the last half hour - and even from a distance Lexa spied the yawn half-hidden behind his arm. She shook her head as she practiced a barrel roll. Every weekend she reminded Bellamy that he didn’t have to come with her. Yet each Saturday he stumbled out of bed before dawn and followed her down to the pitch. She was grateful, truly. But she would have flown with or without him.

Something about the growing light, the quiet wind through the trees, and the sound of nature waking with the dawn made flying feel like some deep meditation. A way to center herself. And god knows she needed it after last night. The storm had raged for hours if the saturated ground below was any proof. The wet field glistened underneath Lexa in the burgeoning sunrise.

Twist. Turn. Sweep. Dive. Roll. If Lexa kept her body in motion then her mind settled and released its tight control if only for a few hours. Another cursory glance at her best friend assured Lexa that he was still on his broom. Still flying figure eights. Sometimes she worried he would fall asleep mid-air and tumble to the bed of grass below. But it had yet to happen.

Lexa leaned forward into the breeze that blew from the east, trying to forget everything except the feeling of flying. But the trouble with fighting the symptoms and not the disease was that as soon as she stopped medicating, it came back with a vengeance. And today was no different.

A brief stasis of calm enveloped Lexa when she touched down over an hour later. A quick rinse in the locker room felt like heaven, but as soon as she fell into step with Bellamy and the outline of the castle filled their horizon, her peaceful bubbled popped with the weight of each returning thought and worry.

Lexa tried to clear some of the tightness from her chest with a few deep breaths, but dissisted as soon as she felt Bellamy’s questioning gaze shift to her. She turned to give him a reassuring nod and noted that his dark eyes looked brighter and more lucid than they had a few hours ago. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lexa’s tight smile urged him otherwise and he seemed to pick up the hint because the words never formed as they made their way into the castle.

“I’m starving,” Bellamy finally broke the silence when the two of them sat down at the Gryffindor table. The few other occupants of the Great Hall were an eclectic bunch at this hour, but Lexa barely gave them a second glance as she poured herself a large mug of coffee. The rich roast scalded her tongue on the way down, but she didn’t mind.

Across from her, Bellamy heaped two spoonfuls of sugar and a hearty pour of cream into his own cup. Lexa’s eyebrows shot up as he added a third spoonful of sugar, presumably for luck.

“What?” Bellamy said through a mouthful of oats. “I need the energy.”

Lexa shook her head with a smirk and turned her own focus on a piece of toast. She scraped some of the softened butter onto her slice, starting from the furthest corner and working her way across the bread, leaving a thin border. About half a centimeter. The only thing worse than dry toast was over buttered toast; Lexa _hated_ when the fat dripped onto her fingers.

“Wanna talk about it?” Bellamy’s voice brought her attention away from the task at hand. His eyes flicked between her and the toast. _Two hours and fifteen minutes._ Well, just fifteen minutes really. If you only counted the time that they’d been fully awake. _Fifteen minutes_. That was how long it took for Bellamy to see through her carefully constructed exterior. Was it the toast that had tipped him off? Lexa supposed she had gotten a bit carried away.

“There’s not much to say,” she sighed, not sure if she was more grateful or annoyed that her best friend could read her so well.

He shrugged by way of an opening. He would listen if she wanted to talk. But did she want to?

Her gaze went back to the half buttered piece of toast. She picked it up and continued methodically as she spoke.

“I just thought things would feel different this time. With Anya, I mean. I’ve tried to be more open and honest. Sometimes we seem closer than ever, but most of the time…it’s like we’re on different planets. She’s pulling away from me. I can feel it. And I have no idea what to do.”

Lexa let out a curse as the melted butter dripped off the toast and broke the perfect border. The Gryffindor threw down the piece of bread with disgust.

“I thought you didn’t have much to say,” Bellamy joked and handed her his own toast. It didn’t have a nice border, but the butter was easily contained. It was fine. She took a bite and rinsed it down with more coffee, trying not to give him the stink eye. He was only teasing.

“I dunno, Lex,” he continued. “I mean, you don’t seem very happy. Maybe you two should just call it?” He stumbled on when she threw him a dirty look. “...or make a big gesture? Maybe she’s still worried that you can’t open up.”

Lexa pushed air out of her mouth, eyes flashing.

“Hey, don’t look at me! You know what girls can be like. She might be feeling insecure and need more reassurance.”

Lexa’s mouth snapped shut. He was right. Just because she felt like she was stripping herself bare, didn’t mean that it was enough for Anya. But what else could she do? They were getting dangerously close to Lexa’s limit. She was already stretched well past her comfort zone.

“So big gesture, huh?” Lexa sighed. “Any ideas?”

Bellamy snorted, “You’re asking me?”

“You’re right,” she chuckled, “Forget I said anything. Maybe I’ll brainstorm in the library. You coming?” Lexa swallowed the last part of her coffee.

“You don’t need me.”

“True, but you’re moral support. You can just sit there and look pretty.”

Bellamy grinned at her and shoved two whole pieces of toast in his mouth before attempting to say something that sounded almost like, ‘Lead the way.’

“I can only look pretty for a bit though,” her best friend said when he finished chewing and hurried after her. “I have plans later.”

Lexa peered back at him, “What do you mean ‘plans’?”

“Just homework.”

“And does this homework include a certain blonde?”

“Possibly.”

“This is the same blonde with whom you partnered for Defense, instead of your best friend, whom you expressly promised to work with, but in reality abandoned to defend herself against your fiendish sister? That blonde?”  

Bellamy had the grace to wince, “Maybe…”

“You’re so predictable, Blake,” Lexa sighed, but she wasn’t really mad. Well, not fully. She understood why he wanted to partner with Clarke Griffin. What she didn’t understand was the strange curiosity that seemed to overtake her whenever he mentioned that particular Slytherin. Maybe it was the awkwardness from their last encounter. Thinking Clarke was Costia… No, it was probably just that Lexa felt protective of Bellamy. She didn’t know enough about Clarke to be sure that she was worthy of her best friend. Few people were.

Lexa opened her mouth to make another snarky comment when they rounded the corridor and almost ran into the younger Blake. Bellamy’s face split into a grin and his mouth opened in greeting, but Octavia just shouldered past both of them. Lexa didn’t miss the panicked look on the younger girl’s face when she spied them.

“O! Hey! Octavia!”

Bellamy’s voice trailed after her, but Octavia tuned him out and added extra effort to each step. Ever since Lincoln had given her that ultimatum, she heard the Hufflepuff’s stern words echoing in her head whenever she looked at her brother, leaving her mind reeling. _Tell him. Don’t tell him. Tell him._ The words ran on repeat in her head until all Octavia could do was bolt before she managed to disappoint either of them.

Her blood boiled as she stalked down the hall. Angry that her brother’s protection meant keeping everyone at a distance. Angry that Lincoln didn’t understand. Angry that she found herself in the middle of it all. Angry that she was pitying herself instead of _doing_ something about it.

She sneered at a passing portrait that seemed to think it was his business to tell her to ‘slow down,’ muttering about ‘kids these days.’ The Gryffindor considered snapping back about his age, but knew she’d feel more foolish about taking her anger out on a portrait than satisfied with the quick comeback. She needed to find Raven. Needed to talk to someone about what to do. Raven had witnessed Bellamy’s antics first hand and would understand her trepidation.

Her footsteps softened as she determined a plan of action, her anger somewhat mollified. When Octavia reached the Entrance Hall, she veered off and sat down on a stone bench in one of the many recesses. Raven was an early riser and would come down sooner rather than later; it would be easy work to spot the Ravenclaw from this vantage point. Plus, no one would think to look for her here. The shadowed alcoves were favored for a quick tryst or a shady deal. She’d seen Jasper and Monty emerge from the recesses a fair share of times, presumably bartering their better batches of moonshine, but either way, Octavia wouldn’t judge.

The Gryffindor bounced her legs up and down, trying to let the minutes slip away. She waited for what felt like an eon and when she finally heard the distant chime of the bell indicating she’d sat there for well over an hour, Octavia decided to give up. There was still no sign of her best friend and patience was admittedly not her strong suit. Or even in her deck of cards for that matter. And considering how long she already waited, Octavia felt close to sainthood.

The girl was about to leave when the murmur of hushed voices pushed her back onto the stone bench. The voices intensified, coming closer, until they seemed to stop just on the other side of Octavia’s recess. A flash of blonde hair whipped into view as Clarke Griffin - Slytherin Princess - stepped back towards the center of the Entrance Hall. Her arms crossed defensively over her chest as she glared at whoever was still concealed. A pause stretched out while her companion presumably spoke.

“Fine,” Clarke hissed and stepped forward, disappearing into the neighboring alcove. “But this looks more suspicious.”

Octavia’s eyebrows shot up, curiosity peaked and ears straining. Another voice answered Clarke’s, but the words were murmured too softly to be understood.

“Seriously, Anya?”

_Anya?_ Octavia leaned closer. _The plot thickens._

“No, I haven’t told anyone,” Clarke’s irritating voice snapped back, the fury evident in her tone. “Why? Because it’s not something I’m particularly proud of, considering how you’ve acted since.”

Another murmured response.

On the other side of the stone wall, Clarke barked out a laugh, completely unaware that the conversation between her and Anya was no longer private. The tumultuous emotions inside of her burned steadily brighter. She spun on her heel, ready to never speak to the other Slytherin again, but before she could take a single step, Anya reached out to grab her wrist.

“Please, Clarke! I haven’t been able to sleep. Just promise me! Promise me that you won’t tell anyone about what happened between us.”

The girl’s voice was desperate, but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care. All the barriers that had been slowly peeling away since arriving at Hogwarts seemed to rear their ugly heads, bigger and more monstrous than before. She felt like she might throw up from the whiplash of her emotions.

“I don’t have to promise you anything, Anya,” Clarke ripped her arm out of the older girl’s grasp. “You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and only _now_ you come to me, telling me to keep my mouth shut as if fucking me was some dirty little secret. I may be a cold, unfeeling bitch, but even that stings.”

“Clarke, I didn’t mean _—_ ”

“Save it. Seriously. I don’t care what you meant.”

Anya’s face fell and the concern retreated behind an indifferent mask.

“Look, you can hate me. Fine. But just don’t tell anyone, especially not Lexa.”

“Why the fuck would I tell your girlfriend, Anya? I’ve spoken to her for all of five minutes. But seriously, congratulations, sounds like you two have a strong foundation. Can’t imagine anything going wrong.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“I can be whatever I want.”

“You’re so _—_ ”

_“Clarke? That you?”_

The two girls froze as the deep voice penetrated the shadows of their alcove. Clarke’s stomach dropped as she recognized Bellamy’s low baritone. _Fuck._ He had bad timing.

“Hey,” she greeted tightly stepping out of the recess, coming face to face with the Gryffindor. Had he been there long?

Bellamy’s eyes darted between her and Anya as the older girl emerged behind Clarke. A look of confusion swept over his face and Clarke felt Anya freeze behind her.

“Sorry,” his eyes kept flickering back and forth. “Did I interrupt?”

“No,” Anya stepped forward smoothly. “Clarke was just passing off an assignment from her mom. I missed my last Potion’s class.”

“Oh, okay,” his eyes shifted to Clarke. For a moment, Clarke considered blurting out the truth. Just letting the chips fall where they may. But then she imagined Bellamy’s face. His disappointment. He’d have to tell Lexa and then maybe he wouldn’t want to hang out with Clarke anymore. That thought settled like acid in her stomach. God, she didn’t want to lose him. The group of people she could trust was so fucking slim as it was.

Clarke inhaled sharply, forcing a smile, “You know me. So helpful.”

“See you around then,” Anya waved casually and took off.

“Yep.”

Bellamy frowned at her, “You good?”

“Yeah, fine.” Clarke tried to return her features to normal. Whatever that looked like. “I just hate being the fucking go-between. I think my mom does it just to piss me off.”

“Do you still want to practice for Defense?”

“Yeah, can we get out of here though?”

“Whatever you want, Princess.”

Clarke tried not to smile, but the corners of her lips turned up slightly. She hated that nickname. She really did.

It took them barely any time to reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest and even less time to make it to their cave. The route was so thoroughly ingrained in both of their minds by now. Last night’s storm had wreaked havoc even inside the sanctuary of the forest. The familiar rough path was strewn with small boughs which had broken off in the strong winds and it took Clarke a second to register the difference permeating the Blackthorn grove.

“Wait,” she called out, her hand bracing Bellamy’s chest to stop him from moving further into the clearing. “Someone’s been here.”

“What?”

“Look,” Clarke pointed urgently at the cave. The branches which usually covered the cave’s entrance lay a few feet away, and the mouth stood uncovered, exposed.

Bellamy laughed at the horrified expression on Clarke’s face, causing it to pinch even tighter. Was he not worried?

“It’s probably just from the storm,” he laughed again. “Who knew you were such a worry wart.”

“I’m not,” Clarke said, stunned as he shook his head and moved into the clearing. “I’m not!”

“Sure, Griffin. If you say so.”

“Bellamy!” Her voice rose sharply as he moved further away. _Fuck it_. He could call her whatever he wanted, she still felt like something was wrong here.

“Come on, Clarke,” he threw over his shoulder. “As much as I enjoy hearing you scream my name in those dulcet tones, I’d rather you not nag me for the rest of the day.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and snorted when he glanced back and a crooked grin spread across his face. She had forgotten how cocky he could be. Clarke marched forward, ignoring him as she passed on her way to the mouth of the cave.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go fir—”

“Shut up.”

Bellamy chuckled roughly as they descended into the darkness. Despite his mirth, Clarke noticed that he too held his wand ready by his side.

“ _Lumos,”_ Clarke muttered quietly as she reached the bottom and stepped through to the central part of the cavern. She sent a few glowing orbs around the cave, her eyes scanning the space for any abnormality.

“See? What did I tell you?” Bellamy voice echoed behind her, breaking the stillness.

Clarke sighed. He was right. There was nothing out of place. No sign that anyone else had discovered their spot. A mixture of relief and annoyance griped her as she turned to face the Gryffindor. He was insufferable sometimes. Still, she couldn’t help the half-hearted smile that tugged at her mouth when she saw his wide grin.

“Come on,” she grabbed his arm and lead the two of them back into the bright light of the clearing above. When she turned around the smile on Bellamy’s face was softer and the look in his eyes made her feel uncomfortably warm. Clarke cleared her throat pointedly at him.

His eyes crinkled, “Yes?”

“Well, do you want to practice or not?”

“All work today, aren’t you?”

“When am I not ‘all work’?”

“Good point.”

“So are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To practice!”

“Practice what?”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

“ _Protego!_ ”

Bellamy threw up his wand in defense and watched in satisfaction as Clarke’s eyes narrowed and her spell ricocheted off of his opaque shield spell. He forced down the self-satisfied smirk and widened his dark eyes dramatically.

“Are you trying to knock me on my ass, Griffin?”

“Stop being willfully obtuse, Blake.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Clarke glared at him and began to circle, arm stretched taut, wand pointed directly at his chest. Bellamy felt his heart tug at the fiery determination in her eyes and gave ground without complaint, mirroring her movement.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_ He shouted and yellow sparks shot out of his wand. Clarke countered quickly slashing her wand down to form a vertical shield and spinning out of the way as the milky veil absorbed the impact of his spell and shattered.

_“Impedimenta!”_

_“Protego!”_

_“Levicorpus!”_ Clarke’s shout rang out and Bellamy threw his body sideways to avoid the curse. But his movement wasn’t fast enough and he realized his error when he felt the heat of the spell graze his thigh. His stomach rolled over as he was lifted skyward; the blood rushing to his head made Clarke’s crow of triumph seem ten times louder than normal. Twisting midair, Bellamy hurtled a jelly-leg jinx at her and knew the spell had taken effect when he plummeted towards the ground. Air pushed roughly out of his lungs as he hit the forest floor, winded.

_“Relashio!”_ Clarke’s breathy cry was his only warning that she’d already managed to break his jinx. Bellamy rolled in the damp grass and shot to his feet as the spot where he had just been exploded, dirt and red, crackling magic mixing in the air.  

_“Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Stupefy!”_ Bellamy threw over his shoulder in quick succession as he ran for cover.

Clarke’s laughter filled the clearing behind him and he shook his head. He tried to focus on anything but the tightening in his abdomen. Fuck, she was fierce. The Gryffindor pressed his back up against a tree on the far side of the grove, lungs heaving. He tried to pull his thoughts together as he caught his breath. Peering around the trunk of the tree, Bellamy caught sight of Clarke stalking towards him. Her pale hair had come loose and her cheeks were rosy and eyes bright with excitement. Bellamy groaned and closed his eyes, deliberately ignoring the fact that he was half-hard just from dueling with her.

He crouched down behind the tree counting each step that brought the Slytherin closer, matching it with each breath that entered and exited his lungs. Just a bit more. A bit farther. He raised his wand. Tucked his elbow in. Twisted his head to the left, back braced against the trunk. Clarke’s breath whispered against the trees as she drew closer. A twig cracked under her feet. The toe of her black Converse poked just into Bellamy’s vision. He knew the minute she’d spotted him because her breath caught. His gaze snapped up to meet hers.

“ _Immob—_ ”

_“Incarcerous!”_ Bellamy breathed out, wand pointed at her feet. Thick rope cinched her ankles together and Clarke gasped in shock, effectively cutting off her own spell. Her arms flailed for balance and before Bellamy could stand completely, she’d grabbed onto his shoulders in an effort to remain upright. He let his wand fall so he could brace her, but his own balance was compromised from his awkward half-squat and the result sent them both toppling into the thorny underbrush.

Bellamy inhaled sharply as his back hit the ground, then exhaled when a second weight fell directly on top of him. Pain exploded in his skull as Clarke’s forehead cracked against his own, sending sunspots through the canopy of branches and blonde hair overhead. A groan escaped his lips when Clarke’s hand dug into his diaphragm in her attempt to stand up.

Her knees shoved into his groin and nails bit into the skin of his stomach. “Clarke! Stop. Fuck!”

“Sorry!” she gasped and then fell flush against him again as her hand slipped in her effort to backtrack.

“Ow,” Bellamy grimaced.

“Sorry,” she repeated breathlessly, squirming.

“Clarke. Stop.”

“I can’t see the rope around my legs. Can you…?”

“I dropped my wand.”

“Of course, you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is your fault. The least you could do would be to fix your own jinx.”

She squirmed again trying to look behind her. Bellamy groaned, all too aware of her body on top of his. Warmth crept up his neck as he felt his body respond. _Fuck._ He needed to do something before she noticed. His hands came up and clamped around her arms, holding her still.

“Just. Stop,” Bellamy breathed in through his mouth, closing his eyes, trying to cut off any and all stimulation. But instead of smelling her floral scent, he could taste her which was infinitely worse. “Give me your wand.” His voice sounded choked and strained his own ears.

“What?!”

“Clarke. Please,” he opened his eyes and forced himself to look past her blue gaze to the treetops above. Cool wood pressed into his hand and he glanced at her briefly before clamping his fingers around her thin wand.

“Okay. Don’t move.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just get on with it.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes at her bossy tone and brushed her hair out of the way so he could look over her shoulder. Her cold nose brushed against his neck and he hissed at the cool touch. How the fuck did they end up here? His heart fluttered, panicking. Bellamy held his breath so he couldn’t smell or taste the overwhelming scent that clung to her blonde tresses and stared down her back at the thick rope tied around her ankles. He recited potions ingredients in his head, narrowing his gaze at the target.

“ _Relashio_ ,” he muttered and the blue spell shot out of Clarke’s wand, slicing through the bindings. He dropped his head back onto the forest floor, eyes falling shut.

Clarke’s chest vibrated against him and it took his mind a moment to realize she was laughing. The sound burst forth from her, washing over him and drawing him into her mirth. He chuckled and slid his gaze to hers where she stared down at him. Bellamy shook his head in amusement as tears leaked from her eyes and her body shook. Her head dropped against his chest as the laughter took hold of her and Bellamy’s breath stalled, trapped inside his lungs as he was suddenly unable to move or think.

“Bellamy?” She raised herself slightly to look at him, brows furrowed questioningly as he fell silent. He opened his mouth but no sound came out and the earlier heat suffused his body at her closeness. The blue of Clarke’s gaze dropped to his lips, brows furrowed deeper still, then returned to look at him. Bellamy watched, entranced, as her perfect lips parted and she breathed in sharply. His eyes sought hers again, startled by the clarity there.

“Clarke?” he breathed out, electrified by her gaze. The single word fell like a prayer from his mouth, a plea, a promise. And before he could overthink anymore, he drew his hands up to push the hair out of her face and pull her closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for the cliffhanger. This update took a bit longer than I intended and I apologize for that. My aunt passed away recently and while it wasn't unexpected, it was and is still really sad. Writing always manages to make me feel better so hopefully the next update will be sooner rather than later. Either way I appreciate your patience.
> 
> And as always I love hearing from you guys and knowing your reactions to each chapter. Every comment puts a smile on my face and I truly appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you love/want from this story. You guys are the best xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me, please. I know it's been forever.

Chapter Thirteen:  
_** It’s Best off If We Burn the Page** _

* * *

I guess I'm tired of talk of hope  
I've learned that doves and ravens fly the same  
But suddenly she's all I know  
An old refrain  
**Glory - Dermot Kennedy**

* * *

 Laughter died in her lungs as she felt Bellamy go stiff beneath her. It was only in that moment that Clarke realized the intimacy of their position, when his body froze like the first frost of winter under which she could still feel the faint tremble of life. Clarke had been so focused on freeing her restrained legs that her mind had not processed the sharp ridges of the boy beneath her. Then the absurdity of it all - their duel, her fall - had overwhelmed everything else. But now Clarke could feel everything. The buttons of his shirt pressing against her chest. His kneecaps digging into her shins. And other places which she tried _not_ to think about.

It was as if she had been suddenly shoved into a glass box where every one of her senses was amplified. Their mixed breath echoed loudly in her ears and she felt tension ripple through Bellamy’s neck as he stiffened against her warm cheek. Her lungs filled with the smell of him and the surrounding forest, a strange and heady mixture which like everything else she tried not to overanalyze.

“Bellamy?” Curiosity and confusion pulled her up and forced his name from her trembling mouth. Her gaze snapped to his as her blonde hair fell in waves around them; blue eyes bled into richest brown and the air turned into a vacuum between them.

Clarke couldn’t remember what breathing felt like. Her lungs burned as brightly as every inch of her body that was pressed against Bellamy’s. The very concept of inhalation was lost on her. How could she remember to breathe when those infinite brown eyes gazed back at her. There was so much they held. Too much for her to decipher. Too much for her to understand. But she could feel their intensity. She could feel the razor-sharp focus of his gaze as it settled on her face. What did he see there? The freckle above to her left eye? The scar underneath her chin? Did he see the imperfection? Clarke didn’t think so. His eyes glowed in a visceral way that she felt all the way down to her toes.

“Clarke?” Her name fell strangled from his mouth and the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes searched hers desperately, like instinct called a man to search for water in the desert. But what was Bellamy looking for? What did he hope to find? Clarke just stared back, her gaze as open and unwavering as his was determined. There was only one thought which flitted through the otherwise blank canvas of her mind. Would he kiss her? She felt every cell in her body ache for it and the sudden urgency of her desire shocked her. Would his lips feel as soft as they looked? Or taste the way she imagined?

Her lungs flooded with sweet air as she inhaled sharply, his hands moving up to hover near her face, but before he could make contact a sound startled Clarke from her sweet revery. The soft shuffling of padded paws tore the Slytherin’s gaze from the boy beneath her and back into the clearing. A small red fox poked its nose out from the cave’s mouth beneath the Blackthorn tree. The creature paused for a moment as if listening and then scurried off into the forest.

“Did you…?” Clarke breathed looking back at Bellamy.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes fixed on where the animal had been rather than looking at her. Clarke suddenly became aware of how uncomfortable he appeared. His jaw was tight and the hands that had been so close were now fisted as far from her as he could manage. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else in that moment. And when his eyes finally came back, they were widened and panicked, like he had just realized how compromising their position was.

_Oh god,_ Clarke thought in mortification as embarrassment and guilt flooded her in swift succession. She was laying on top of him, basically trapping the poor boy beneath her. Bellamy was too nice to simply shove her off, but his expression was so strained that Clarke wondered if the thought hadn’t entered his mind. The hands which she thought might hold her were probably intended to shift her off and away… away from him. _Oh god._ Her cheeks felt like flames as she realized how easily she’d lost a grip on her wild imagination. How could she be so stupid?

“Sorry,” she gasped and scrambled off of him as quickly as her trembling limbs would carry her, wincing as another explosive breath left Bellamy when her knee jabbed him. “Sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Clarke,” his voice was soft, raspy. She heard him shuffle to stand, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Instead she focused on the fallen wand and stooped to pick it up, brushing off the bits of dirt that clung to it.

“Here,” she held the instrument out in his direction, but kept her gaze directed towards the center of the clearing.

“Clarke,” his fingers brushed against her as he took back his proffered wand. She recoiled her hands into her side and tried to swallow the guilt forcing its way out of her throat. No use.

“I’m really sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything, Griffin. It was my spell.”

Clarke felt her stomach drop. _Griffin._ He usually only called her by her surname when he was joking, but there was no humor in his voice. She finally dragged her gaze back to him and felt the weight of his expression hit her like a physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out even though the regret was clearly painted on his face. His jaw jogged as if searching for the right words.

“It’s fine, please,” Clarke blurted out quickly. “You don’t need to say anything. Let’s just forget about it. Okay?”

She was only trying to save him from the boiling embarrassment she felt, save him from having to explain that they were just friends. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. Clarke knew that. She had noticed him with the other girls in school. A different one following him around every week. She knew he wasn’t interested in her, but honestly she felt more hurt from the shock of realizing that she was. Interested. He interested her. When had _that_ happened? God, how mortifying. So she tried to save them the awkwardness, but Bellamy’s expression just darkened and he nodded sharply.

“Let’s practice again next Sunday, yeah?” Clarke asked, aiming for a light tone, but the words came out forced and tight. “Uh, I forgot that I have— have something else to do. Do you mind? I’ll just— yeah… Well, later then.”

Bellamy watched in horror as Clarke turned and marched away into the forest, back towards the castle. There was a hole in his chest that only seemed to expand with each step that pulled her further away from him. His body was flashing hot and cold and he felt sweaty and sick, his mind shredded beyond recognition. He was still uncomfortably aroused from the nearness of Clarke, but now that small pleasure was tainted by the exquisite pain pounding in his chest. He felt like he was dying. There was something not right inside of him. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more in that moment, to cry or relieve his painful erection, and the mixture of emotions made him feel small and shameful.

They had been so close to… something. Clarke had been right there in his arms and then everything just shattered. He’d tried to reign in the intensity of his emotions. Bellamy hadn’t wanted to frighten her; he was already scared enough for the both of them. That foraging animal had provided the perfect opportunity, perfect distraction for him to get a hold of himself. To try to stop his body from responding to her nearness, but despite his effort that monster wouldn’t be subdued and when he’d looked back, his nightmare had come true. He’d watched as realization, then mortification, then thinly veiled disgust had all swept over her fine features.

Bellamy didn’t blame her, but it had hurt like a knife to the gut when she’d all but flown off of him, repulsed. She couldn’t even look at him afterwards. And that had brought a mixture of relief and shame in equal measure. Then she’d apologized and the shame had won.

A derisive laugh ripped from Bellamy’s chest and his eyes stung hotly. God, he had fucked up royally. All the progress that they had made lay in a smoking heap at his feet. She probably wouldn’t even want to be friends with him now and the horror in her eyes would become solid, a scar in his mind.

With a defeated sigh, the Gryffindor pushed his feet into motion and began the slow trek back to campus, only realizing when he’d left the forest behind that he had two wands in his possession; Clarke’s was still clutched tightly in his right hand. As if it had become a permanent fixture, an extension of himself — much like its owner.

As the day carried on, Bellamy found himself examining the instrument. Staring at its dark ebony wood, the delicate carvings that ran up either side, and the smoothed, worn grip that was slightly discolored from use. He waited, hoping that Clarke would seek him out, reclaim what was rightfully hers, but when he still possessed the wand at the end of the day he admitted that she didn’t want to see him. So Bellamy entrusted the task of courier to his best friend after Lexa assured him that she was already headed to the Slytherin Common Room. It was no trouble.

For her own part, Lexa didn’t like the quiet moodiness that had descended over Bellamy since they had parted ways this morning. She decided quickly to not ask questions, especially after he nearly snapped her head off at the first innocent one she posed. It didn’t take any stretch of the imagination for Lexa to realize that his depression had to do with a certain blonde Slytherin. It wasn’t her business, but still she felt irritation rise within her as she made her way down towards the dungeons. She had a few choice words for Clarke Griffin.

The sconces along the pale stone walls flared brighter as the Gryffindor moved further into the bowels of the castle, twisting and turning down, down, down. Lexa knew exactly what she would say, the snarl she would put in her voice as she warned the Slytherin to watch herself, that her family was not to be messed with. She would walk into their common room, demand to speak with Clarke Griffin. Maybe she would publicly shame her so the girl would know Lexa was serious. But as she rounded the corner, all the calculated words flew from Lexa’s mind; the very same blonde stood outside the entrance to the common room, hesitating as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to enter.

Lexa froze in her tracts, heart clenching at the sight before her. The girl was using the sleeve of her jumper to wipe her eyes, chest heaving. Lexa watched as the blonde shook her head and inhaled a shaky breath. _Shit._ It looked like Bellamy wasn’t the only one affected by whatever had transpired earlier. Lexa steeled herself and pushed forward despite how muddled the situation now appeared. She had come down here for a reason. She had a job.  

The Slytherin whirled around at the sound of Lexa’s approach and her startled expression turned quickly to trepidation as the blonde took in the Gryffindor before her. Lexa tried to rouse her earlier irritation and reclaim the perfectly formed rebuff, but her gaze caught on the red which rimmed the watery blue eyes that stared defiantly back at her.

“Can I help you?”

Lexa arched her eyebrows at the blonde’s acerbic tone and instead of answering she simply flipped the wand in her hand and offered the hilt to the Slytherin.

“Oh,” Clarke Griffin swallowed visibly and for a moment Lexa was worried she would cry, but with a deep breath the moment passed. “Thanks.”

Again Lexa tried to find the harsh words she had crafted earlier, but all that came out was “Bellamy is pretty upset.” The words sounded less like an accusation than she meant them to. She was failing at this.

“I know.”

“Oh, okay.” Lexa gritted her teeth, annoyance finally seeping back in at the Slytherin’s dull tone. “He cares about you.”

The blonde nodded, but she didn’t really seem like she was listening to Lexa. “He’s been a good friend.”

Lexa’s eyebrows rose further. So that was it. Bellamy had been friendzoned. If Clarke’s distress was any indication, he had not reacted very well. Lexa sighed and shook her head. Hetero relationships confused the fuck out of her. It was like ‘assume its romantic unless you’re told it’s not’ where as in Lexa’s experience the rule was really ‘assume you’re friends unless there is an explicit desire for more.’

“I’m sure he’ll be fine soon,” the Gryffindor offered, not sure why she was suddenly trying to do damage control. She’d been ready to slay for him moments ago. Now this.

Griffin nodded tightly, “Thanks again. For the wand… and for the other day. When you… you know?” the blonde pointed toward her head.

“Oh yeah,” Lexa shrugged, her hands digging into the pockets of her trousers. She remembered their encounter in the hall all too vividly. Her heart had nearly stopped when she’d first spied Clarke on the floor. Even now, her stomach seemed to tie itself in knots at the memory of Costia’s face staring back at her. But it hadn’t been Costia’s. Now that Lexa was looking at Clarke Griffin more closely she realized that the two looked nothing alike. Not really. Sure they were both blonde and had light eyes, but that was where the resemblance stopped. Clarke’s nose was more angular than the soft roundness of Costia’s. The Slytherin’s eyes wider and a darker, greener blue. Clarke’s skin was a creamy even texture while Costia had had a smattering of freckles. No, they really didn’t look alike at all.

Lexa cleared her throat as she realized how intently she’d been staring at the Slytherin. “You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal, really.” The last part she added quickly, not sure if it was more to convince Clarke or herself.

“Well thanks anyways,” the blonde smiled, then looked at Lexa expectantly, before adding. “Was that it?”

“What?”

“Did you need something else?”

“Oh, right!”

Lexa has been so consumed by finding Clarke that she’d all but forgotten her initial reason for coming down here. Guilt flashed bitter in her mouth, but retreated quickly. She was here for Anya.

“I’m actually heading in to see my girlfriend. Were you going in?”

Clarke’s eyes widened comically then darted towards the door, “Uh, yeah— yeah, I was just…”

Lexa turned to the gargoyle as Clarke trailed off, finding the creature staring back at them. His pupil-less onyx eyes shifted between the two silently with a monstrous grin twisting its mouth.

“Skin of the snake,” Clarke muttered the password to the magical beast embedded in stone.

Lexa watched and when the portal didn’t respond immediately, she stepped forward with a snarl, “The lady said ‘ _skin of the snake_.’”

The low chuckle which the gargoyle let out grated against Lexa’s nerves, but the door swung open all the same. She indicated for Clarke to enter and then followed closely behind the blonde. The dark passage gave way to the green-hued common room and Lexa had to halt quickly to keep from running into the Slytherin as Clarke turned back towards her.

“So Bellamy…?”

Lexa noted the vulnerable expression which swept across the blonde’s normally icy face and sighed, “He’ll be fine.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Lexa watched as the blonde slowly walked away, giving a wide berth to the figure emerging from the stairwell to the girls’ dorm. When the Gryffindor’s eyes left Clarke, she saw that the new arrival was none other than Anya. Lexa’s smile of greeting stalled as her girlfriend glanced back at the retreating blonde and stiffened. Her champagne eyes returned to Lexa’s and whatever emotion lived there was shuttered off behind steel walls before the Gryffindor could name it.

“Did she say something to you?” Anya’s arm crossed. She didn’t move forward to greet Lexa, staying perched on the last step of the stairs.

The brunette’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Who? Clarke?”

“Yes. Clarke.”

“What? Why would she—”

“Nevermind,” Anya shook her head angrily at herself. “Forget it.”

“Okay,” Lexa replied slowly, walking to stand in front of her girlfriend. The added height of the step put Anya a few inches above the Gryffindor. Her hands came to rest on Anya’s hips, drawing the Slytherin down to her height. “Are you feeling better?”

“What?”

“I mean after last night.”

“Oh,” something like guilt flashed over her girlfriend’s face as the Slytherin remembered the debacle of getting stuck in the greenhouse during the storm. “Yeah, I am. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”

“You meant well,” Lexa argued as she lead the two of them over to the leather couch near the fire. The warmth from the hearth kept the chill of the drafty dungeons at bay for the most part.

“I know, but that’s no excuse.” Anya sighed, lacing her fingers through Lexa’s. The gesture sent warmth racing up the Gryffindor’s arms. The golden light of the fire set Anya’s skin ablaze and Lexa couldn’t help but be struck by how beautiful her girlfriend was as she continued talking, “I just feel like we keep missing each other this week. And— and I feel like that’s my fault. Actually, I know it is.”

Lexa pressed her lips together. It really wasn’t. And if Lexa wanted to make her big move, now was as good a time as any. She felt the nervousness bubble up inside of her, but with practiced ease she shoved it beneath the surface, focusing instead on the graceful slant of Anya’s eyes as the girl struggled for words.

“I want you to know— I feel like I should tell you— but I don’t know how— it’s about me and—”

“So I’ve been thinking,” Lexa plunged in, not really meaning to cut Anya off, but knowing that if she waited too long, the courage would leave her. Lexa was a brave person. No one would call her a coward, but she had never done this before and the newness of it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

“I’ve been thinking,” she repeated as Anya’s eyes widened to glowing golden orbs. “About all the things I love about you. About how warm you can be, how caring…even if I’m the only one who knows that side of you, I love it… I love that it is part of you. And I’ve been thinking about your unwavering determination to be yourself. So many people in Slytherin, at Hogwarts really, have shit families… but you don’t. You’re proud of your parents and your home and I love that about you. _So much._ ”

“Lex—”

“Please let me finish or I might throw up,” Lexa begged quietly, closing her eyes and squeezing the fingers that were still laced with her own. “I love how _honest_ you are. That you never hide from the truth. That’s actually very Gryffindor of you, but don’t kill me for saying it.” There was a strangled noise that Lexa attributed to the indignation at being called anything but a Slytherin, but she couldn’t be sure because her eyes were still glued shut. “And I love the smell of your hair and the way you get this little furrow in you brow when you’re angry and the fact that you hate the taste of coffee, but never complain when I drink it.” Lexa opened her eyes and stared at where their hands joined, her heart beating out of her throat. “And as I was thinking of all the things I love about you, that’s when it hit me… I love you.”  

Lexa finally glanced back up to meet Anya’s eyes and said it again, “I just love you… so there’s that. What I’ve been thinking.”

Anya stared back at her, eyes wide and face twisted in what Lexa supposed was shock. Her golden eyes welled with tears as she shook her head softly in disbelief. “Oh my god, Lexa… you can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“What? What do you mean I can’t? I love you.” Irritation rose swiftly as Anya sobbed once than clamped a hand over her mouth. This was not how she expected this to go.

“Lexa—”

“I love you,” the Gryffindor said again firmly.  She’d spent most of the day convincing herself to say this and in all of the scenarios Lexa had imagined, she’d never had to _convince_ Anya to believe it. “I can’t just take it back.”

Lexa thought Anya was going to protest again, but instead the older girl leaned forward and captured the brunette’s lips with her own. She kissed Lexa with such force that the Gryffindor almost yelped at the pressure, but she relented before it became painful, instead pressing soft kisses to the corners of Lexa’s mouth. So Lexa sighed against Anya’s lips as her confusion melted away with the ardor of the other girl’s attention.

“I love you too,” Anya whispered against her mouth as if it was a secret.

“I should hope so,” Lexa murmured indignantly and pulled Anya in again, rising up to cradle her girlfriend’s face between her two palms and kissing the Slytherin’s open mouth. Later, when Lexa remembered to ask what Anya had been trying to tell her before the Gryffindor had interrupted, her girlfriend assured her that it wasn’t anything important. And though she tried to believe Anya, Lexa couldn’t help but feel that there was more to the story.

Many floors above, Octavia finally tracked her brother to the back of the library where he had hidden himself in the Herbology section. The table was tucked away on the lower level, past the circulation desk from where Madam Tsing observed the students and behind a few rows of stacks. And although Octavia found the table strewn with an array of books and parchments, her brother’s only interest seemed to be the small window on the far side of the nook through which sunlight could be seen fading from the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.  

“Bell?”

He started at her voice, head whipping around so fast that Octavia thought she heard something crack. Bellamy raised a large hand to rub the back of his abused neck and glance at her in abject resignation.

“What do you want, O?”

“Good to see you too, big brother.”

He glared at her, “My mistake. I thought you were still avoiding me seeing as you ran away so quickly this morning.”

Octavia rolled her eyes at his waspish response and pulled out the chair next to him so she could take a seat. This was already going worse than she hoped. Maybe if she just said what she came to say fast enough she could book it out of the library before her words hit home. _No_ , Octavia sighed, resigning herself to her task. She wasn’t a coward. That wasn’t her. _I am not afraid._

“Yeah, I guess I have been avoiding you. Sorry about that,” Octavia admitted, then added at the look of surprise he shot her. “I do know how to apologize.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Seriously, Bell? Can you restrain your attitude for like five seconds so we can have a conversation?” Octavia glowered at him.

“You’re one to ta—”

“Okay fine,” Octavia plowed on, bracing herself. “If you’re going to be nasty and mean before I’ve even said anything than I’ll just get on with it.”

“Please.”

“Fine,” she gritted her teeth. He wasn't even looking at her. Just staring out of that stupid window. “I’m seeing someone. It’s serious and I thought you should know. That’s it.”

Bellamy snorted and then the offensive sound turned into a chuckle, then into a full blown laugh. Octavia stared at him, incensed, and felt her cheeks heat as his laughter continued.

“Thanks, O. That was a good one. I needed that.”

“I’m not joking, you dick.”

The mirth fell from Bellamy’s face like a lodestone through water. His eyes narrowed, “Excuse me?”

“I. Am. Seeing. Someone.”

“Who?”

“None of your business.”

“It is my business if someone thinks they can fool around with my little sister. Guys are pigs, Octavia.”

“You would know,” she snapped aggressively. Bellamy’s face reeled as if she’d slapped him.

“Screw you, O.”

“God, you’re such an asshole.”

Bellamy laughed sharply and carded a hand through his thick hair without looking at her, “You think after everything I’ve done for you, you’d be _a little_ grateful.”

“I would if you stopped holding it over my head!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It’s not, Bell! You try to control _everything_ I do and everyone I hang out with. Do you have any idea how suffocated I feel? With your constant pressuring and with you running people off? I didn’t even want to tell you, but Lin— but the guy I’m seeing insisted that I be honest.”

“So now you’re letting him tell you what to do? Octavia, this is what I’m trying to prevent!”

“So it’s okay for _you_ to tell me what to do, but no one else? And when do I ever listen to you anyways!” Her voice rose, booming without care of who might be listening.

“I just—” Bellamy pulled at his hair, his eyes wild as he stared at her. “I just don’t want you to let anyone take advantage of you. I can’t— I couldn’t— It would—”

Octavia watched him struggle for words, bile rising in her throat. Her voice was quiet, but hard when she finally said, “I’m not mom, Bell.”

“No, you’re all I have, Octavia! And if I have to chase every single person away to keep you safe, I will. I have to. You don’t understand—”

“Don’t you hear yourself?!” Octavia cried out. She stood up suddenly, knocking her chair over as she spat at him in fury, “Making my life miserable won’t make you feel _better_ , Bellamy. You can’t make up for letting mom die by keeping me in a cage!”

The words were out before she could take them back and the look of pained disbelief on Bellamy’s face threatened to fracture her soul, but she wouldn’t let it. She was too far gone already.

“You really think I _let_ mom die?”

_No,_ her mind roared. But her mouth refused to let the word escape. Whenever Octavia was this angry, her darkest thoughts slipped out; a need to lash out would consume her, to hurt just as she was hurting. Thoughts and words rose to the surface, ones that should never be uttered except in the shadow of her own mind; they slithered against fissures, weaknesses inside of her, until they could worm their way out and become real.

“Mom is dead because of you,” she hissed, vibrating with anger, “And punishing me won’t bring her back.”

Bellamy’s jaw went slack and his eyes stared blankly back at her. It was enough. She knew it was enough, but that demon inside of her was not satisfied, still blood thirsty, hurting, and as Octavia turned to go, she couldn’t help but breath out one last, dark truth.

“You’re so worried about me being like mom, but I’m not the one with blind loyalty. I’m not the one who lets people walk over me, use me, and throw me away.”

Octavia turned and left before she could witness how the weight of her words put distance between them. Her heart felt disgusting, shriveled, and shoved to the corner inside her ribcage. But it was like her mind had flipped a switch and she could no longer feel those emotions. Deep inside, some small version of Octavia was screaming, begging her to go back, to make things right. But her mind was a blank, mirror-like surface. There was nothing else. She was nothing else. She didn’t even register the stern reprimand of Madam Tsing as the librarian rounded the corner to find which students had been shouting. Octavia didn’t notice the stares which followed her as she moved through the open study area. She didn’t hear the call of her best friend from across the room as she exited that dusty, horrible place. She didn’t hear anything. She just kept walking, not sure if she would ever stop.

Raven’s eyes tracked her friend across the room. She was halfway out of her seat intent on following the younger girl when the door swung shut with a clang behind Octavia. Raven hesitated; it would be best to let the Gryffindor cool off first. Raven knew how useless talking to an enraged Blake could be. So she determined to find Octavia after she finished her Potions essay. Besides, the library would be closing soon and Raven didn’t really feel like studying in the common room. Not after this morning.

With a sigh Raven turned back to the parchment in front of her. She scanned the last three sentences to jog her memory, but her inspiration had dried up and her mind felt preoccupied with a thousand other things besides the proper methods of brewing Fengold’s Liquid Invisibility. And when the sconces began to dim and many of the students started their retreat, Raven’s fountain pen still hung, suspended above the page. She threw the offensive instrument down and tilted her head back with a frustrated expletive.

“That bad huh?”

Raven stiffened as Jasper settled into the seat next to her. The lanky Ravenclaw sat down sideways so he was facing her and tucked his arms into his side.

“So you’re talking to me again?” she asked and twisted to look him, not even bothering to pretend to give any attention to the half-finished essay on the desk.

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, Raven,” Jasper scoffed. “We fought this morning.”

“Well lunch felt pretty damn long with you not talking to me.”

“Sorry,” Jasper grimaced. “I had to… gather my thoughts. It takes time for me to know what to say. Jokes? No problem. But some of us have a hard time expressing how we feel.”

“So what? You needed to strategize exactly how to slut shame me again?” Raven asked caustically. Earlier, she had been ready to brush the whole incident under the rug. Raven understood why he had been worried. She did. But then Jasper had acted like a little bitch, giving her the cold shoulder as if he had done nothing wrong. And she wasn’t just going to bend over and take it. She was Raven ‘God Damn’ Reyes after all.

Jasper rubbed a hand over his face as his cheeks reddened, “I am sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have made you feel bad for… for…”

Raven rolled her eyes, “For having sex?”

Jasper’s face pinched, “You had sex with Roan?”

“It may come as a surprise to you, Jasper Jordan, but I’ve had lots of sex in my admittedly short life and I don’t appreciate being made to feel bad about it. I like sex. I _love_ sex. And that doesn’t make me a slut. And it doesn’t give you the right to question me. Or make _that_ face. Seriously, stop making that face.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Jasper put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel bad, Raven. I was a dick earlier… but I _was_ really worried. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but I was.”

“I know,” Raven murmured softly.

“It would just— It would kill me if something happened to you. I’ve thought a lot about why I got so upset this morning and it made me realize that maybe I… maybe I might…” he paused, swallowing, and stared at her as if that alone would magically finish his sentence.

“What? You might what?” Raven prompted, trying to not sound too irritated.

“It’s just that we know each other so well. We’ve been friends for so long and— and now I…” Again he trailed off.

“I really don’t know where you’re going with this, Jasper,” Raven admitted and fidgeted as he continued to stare at her, feeling slightly under inspection.

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay, here it is. Raven Reyes—”

“Is the most gorgeous dork in the whole castle,” Roan deep voice cut through the two Ravenclaws as the Gryffindor appeared out of nowhere. He sidled up behind Raven and leaned over to give her a quick peck on the mouth. She raised her eyebrows at him, slightly taken aback by the public display of affection. But Roan simply smiled back so she returned the gesture, trying to ignore the weight of Jasper’s eyes on her.

“You ready?” Roan asked, glancing briefly past her to where Jasper still sat.

“Uh…yeah, just give me a minute,” Raven told him and breathed a sigh of relief when the Gryffindor took a few steps back and began a conversation with someone at a nearby table. One of his Gryffindor cronies no doubt. Raven turned to Jasper. His expression appeared unchanged except for his lips which had pinched shut into a thin, white line.  “What did you want to tell me?”

Jasper just shook his head, giving her a wave, “S’fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“So we’re cool then?”

“Super cool.”

“Okay,” Raven said slowly, still trying to decipher his expression. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, just…go have fun,” Jasper grimaced even as he said the words. “Seriously.”

Raven snorted at his attempt to appease her and began to gather her supplies. She tugged her canvas bag over her shoulder and gave Jasper a playful punch before turning to leave. Roan slipped his hand into hers as they made their way out of the library and Raven felt his comforting warmth envelope her skin. She smiled at him and decided not to look back to see if Jasper was still at the table, watching them leave. She decided she didn’t want to know.

So Raven didn’t see that her friend was the last one in the library. Or that the lamps went black despite his presence. Or hear the muttered _‘really?’_ that rang out through the hollow hall of tomes, the only sound from the boy who sat alone in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Reactions? Leave a comment! They give me life and make me smile. Special thanks those of you who have left reviews on multiple chapters, especially hundredsclan and Pink_mist. You guys rock <3 
> 
> This is a whopper of a story and to be honest I'm getting to the end of what I've 'pre-written.' I'm a bit daunted by the scope of what I've created so it means a lot to know you all are interested in what comes next! Xx


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

_** Stranger than Fiction ** _

* * *

I need a summer but the summer's come and gone  
I need a summer but it's winter in my heart  
It's all the same fucked up game you play with me  
I need to hold you but you're never coming back

**Winter In My Heart - VAST**

* * *

The castle buzzed with activity as students and teachers alike made their way down towards the Quidditch Pitch. Hogwarts was divided; a sea of red and gold eddied around large tidepools of blue and bronze as even the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins proudly displayed support for their chosen team. The rivalry of colors was strongest amongst the students, but even a few Professors had donned a token scarf or ribbon in solidarity.

Clarke, however, stood resolutely in green as the vibrant ocean broke around her like water finding its way past stone. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to go to the match. She didn’t want to sit in the Ravenclaw section and heckle those flying in red or with the Gryffindors and endure the heated glares from her teammates. So instead she found her feet taking her towards the Great Lake sure that she would be able to hear Murphy’s piss-poor commentary just fine from the shore.  

Clarke pulled her robes tighter around her emerald sweater and watched as the steady stream of students leaving the castle became a trickle and then tapered off until the field was empty save the odd seventh year who had obviously overslept. She lay back against the stiff grass and watched her breath condense the cool breeze into wispy puffs of vapor. The liquid smoke rose above her head in clouds which swirled slowly before disappearing into the ether.

Clarke finally closed her eyes as the sound of Murphy’s amplified voice filled the air and listened as he entertained the crowd with forced, half-hearted jokes before the opening whistle. Every so often, Murphy would break from the scripted repertoire he had clearly been provided and add something overtly sexual and completely him. Probably just to piss off Headmaster Jaha. Clarke’s face split into a grin as she imagined the stern _‘John’_ that was sure to follow each saucy remark.

Her eyes shot open as the relative peace of the lakeshore was trampled. Voices disturbed the air, much closer and more real than the booming echo of Murphy’s from the stadium. A quick look over her shoulder revealed two students — one in red and one in blue — hurrying back towards the castle.

“Look, you can go back if you want, but I’m searching his office with or without you,” the boy in blue snapped at his friend.

“What if his office is warded, Gabe?”

“We’ll know when we get there. They’re not doing anything! They haven’t even looked for him. And they didn’t take our complaint seriously. It’s like they don’t even give a shit that he’s missing!”

“I’m just as upset as you are, but—”

“No. No _‘but.’_ Atom is my best friend and Professor Pike was the last person to see him. You know that. You were there! Pike asked him to stay after class and then he never came back to the common room.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“I know, but that’s why we’re going to search his office. Are you with me or not?” The boy in blue - Gabe - turned on his friend. The Gryffindor finally nodded and the pair disappeared into the castle and from Clarke’s view.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clarke muttered, pushing herself up. She hadn’t wanted to go to the game. She still didn’t. But Abby would be there. All the teachers would. And those kids were going to get themselves hurt, snooping around a professor’s office.

As Clarke forced her feet in the direction of the pitch, she wasn’t sure of her own intentions. Whether she was going just to keep an eye on Pike and make sure he didn’t leave the game or whether she was going to tell her mother what she’d overheard. Not that she owed Abby anything. She might as well go straight to Headmaster Jaha if she was going to say anything at all. Clarke hissed as she drew closer and Murphy’s voice became almost painfully loud. The old Clarke, the one who always followed the rules, was in a mental headlock with the new one, the one who understood keenly what it was like to not have answers. Her hand came up to rest lightly on the pendant around her neck. As Clarke made her way past the locker rooms and into the restless stadium she still was not sure which side of herself would win.

On the other side of the wooden barrier, Octavia was keeping her distance from both her Captain and her brother. Well, as much as she could in the small space designated for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Octavia fixed her gaze on her fingers as they fidgeted with the leather straps of her uniform, only half listening to the pep talk coming from across the team’s circle. The confidence was thick and tangible, coating the walls of the locker room like plaster; everyone had been flying exceptionally well in practice and each player seemed antsy to prove themselves.

Except Octavia. She felt… _off_ . The usual tug of excitement that swept through her veins before a match was only a dull thud which was probably just the beating of her own heart. Lincoln had invited her to Hogsmeade that weekend. Their first real date. She’d been invited plenty of times before, but had never been able to go. Something - or rather _someone -_ always seemed to change her date’s mind and they would cancel last minute. But Hell would freeze over before anything got in Octavia’s way this time. She was determined as only a Blake could be. Still, Octavia couldn’t squash the sick feeling in her stomach that accompanied her excitement. Because as soon as her and Lincoln walked out together, then the Hufflepuff would be an open target for Bellamy.

The Blakes hadn’t so much as talked since their argument in the library. It had been an agonizing week of silence and the tension between them seemed to occupy a fifty foot radius that sent everyone else skittering away. If the confidence in the locker room hadn’t been so high, the team might have focused on the icy glare Bellamy had leveled on her rather than the reassuring words from their Captain. So between Lincoln and her brother and the match, Octavia’s mind was distracted, half here and half in the weekend, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

She pointedly avoided her brother’s hand when they huddled for one last warm up and pretended she didn’t hear his angry huff behind her as the team headed out onto the field. Bending down, Octavia gave one last aggressive tug to the laces of her boots, then straightened, checking that all the straps and buckles of her uniform were tight. She only turned around when her ears caught the muttered argument filling what she assumed had been an empty locker room.

Octavia’s arms crossed over her leather-bound chest as she took in the two people intruding on her moment of privacy. Bellamy’s face hardened and Lexa fell silent at his transformed expression before turning to glare at the younger Blake. The Seeker watched her Captain’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of siblings, then noted the irritation which followed at their stoic silence and finally the half-snarl.

“Stop it,” Lexa growled at them. “Whatever bullshit this is, cut it out. Can you do that? Can you pull the stick out of your ass for the duration of this game so your petty squabble doesn’t affect the entire fucking field?”

Bellamy’s face remained impassive. His hard gaze held Octavia’s for a long beat before he turned and walked out onto the pitch without a word. Lexa rounded on Octavia the moment they were alone, but the younger Gryffindor only held her Captain’s stare for a few seconds before bending to recheck all her buckles. Of course, Octavia knew they were all tightly fastened. She’d checked only a minute ago. But she also knew that turning her back would piss off Lexa the most. It was an easy choice.  

“What the fuck did you say to him, Octavia?”

“Hmm?” she hummed turning around, still bent over, and giving Lexa a curious look. The rage that swept over the older girl’s face was swift and glorious and the disgusted noise that Lexa made was one with which Octavia was intimately familiar. It seemed only fitting that she would use it now.

“You’re such a child.”

Octavia whipped around and barked out a laugh, “Oh yes, _this_ argument again. You really are predictable, Lexa.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Don’t butt your head in where it doesn’t belong,” Octavia sneered and prowled forward with precise steps, only stopping when she drew so close that Lexa’s green eyes flared slightly. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t give a shit about me. So stay where you belong, in Bellamy’s corner whispering all your pathetic reassurances to him, and maybe _think_ before you try to meddle in our relationship again. Because the next time you do, you won’t be my brother’s best friend or the girl we grew up with. You’ll be nothing and I will treat you that way.”

“Big words for such a small girl,” Lexa snarled back, her eyes hard and hot on Octavia’s skin. Octavia’s breath caught, her own eyes blazing in response, ready for the fight, for the heat. But, like always, Lexa didn’t let her fire rise to Octavia’s challenge. _Like always_ , she maintained perfect control over herself. Octavia watched the deep breath fill Lexa’s lungs. She watched as the older girl’s eyes cleared to their normal impenetrable surface. If Octavia hadn’t been so disappointed, she might have been able to admit it was a thing of beauty. Instead she stepped away as Lexa continued more calmly, “I never said I didn’t car—”

“I don’t give a shit what you think you said,” Octavia snapped, feeling herself grow hotter without anyone or anything to temper her. She ran a hand through her hair, then cursed when it stuck in her half-braid.

“Fine,” Lexa’s voice was calm as ever. No trace of her earlier irritation and the stability in it only seemed to cast the crackling electricity inside Octavia into further contrast. “But whatever you said to Bellamy was harsh enough that he won’t talk to me about it. He’s hurting. And _you_ did that.” Octavia’s shoulders stiffened, bracing. She listened as another deep breath rattled from behind her. “When are you going to realize that it’s time to take responsibility for your actions? You can’t just keep steamrolling everything that bothers you, Octavia. Don’t you see that? You destroy everything you touch.”

Fire coursed through her stomach, her lungs, her throat. Octavia tried to swallow the burning sensation that scorched her mouth, but it just grew hotter in her chest. Breath came fast and sharp then. She tried to tighten her muscles to keep her body from shaking. She wouldn’t shake. Couldn’t shake. Couldn’t show weakness. Fuck that. Fuck Lexa. Fuck everything. If she was going to burn, they would all burn with her.  

“What gives you the right to judge me? Huh?” Octavia spat over her shoulder, turning. “Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time worrying about mine and Bellamy’s relationship, your own wouldn’t be failing.”

Lexa’s impassive mask cracked as confusion furrowed her brows, “What?”

Something like regret tinged the heat inside her lungs, but it was too small to name and Octavia was still burning. That crackling chaotic feeling inside of her was growing steadily; it was entropy, disorder, the tell-tale sign that she was swiftly losing control. It was the tipping point where the sheer enormity of her own emotions began to even frighten her. She needed to leave the locker room, leave this cramped space before she exploded, before she said one more thing which she would later regret. Octavia grabbed her broom from where it leaned against the bench and made a beeline for the exit. But Lexa was faster and grabbed her sharply by the elbow.

“What did you mean by that?” Lexa’s voice was a low hiss.

“Let go of my arm, Lexa.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”

“Wha— Octavia!”

Lexa felt it like a punch to her gut as the younger Blake spun away and stalked out of the locker room. She didn’t know how things always got so out of hand with the two of them. They were like skin and sandpaper. No. They were like a tank of gasoline and C4 with the shortest fucking fuse in the world. Or maybe that was just Octavia. Lexa didn’t know anymore. Her mind was too full of all the different ways they had insulted each other to work properly. Their conversation echoed in her head like a looped track as she made her way out onto the pitch. She barely looked at the Ravenclaw Captain as she shook his hand and then took her place at the head of the Gryffindor team. The first whistle blew. She shot into the air, finally slamming back into the present as the second and final trill of the whistle signaled the start of the game.

The pitch exploded into a mess of players and Lexa spun the bat in her hand, eyes scanning the pitch. When she aimed her first bludger at the opposing team, a groan of satisfaction slipped through her lips. The tension she had firmly locked inside finally felt some release, however small.

Her eyes made a cursory sweep of the field. Her team seemed to be on track, but… _Fuck_ , she was distracted. Lexa hated going into a game with anything less than precision and focus. This was the exact opposite. The dry commentary from the stands became a dull, nasal buzzing in Lexa’s ears, only split by the intermittent cracks of her bat against a bludger. Bellamy kept his distance, brooding around the field like a dark storm cloud. The two of them usually flew as a unit, but for now, this was enough. If Lexa kept him in her prefery and swung her bat every couple of minutes, she could almost distract herself from the weight at the back of her mind. She could almost ignore whatever veiled accusation Octavia had been trying to make before the game began. She definitely didn’t look towards the stands. She didn’t check to see if Anya was there. She didn’t note the Slytherin’s absence. No, she didn’t do any of that. Lexa couldn’t deal with that information now. If she thought about it, she would spiral. Her focus would slip even more than it already had.

Instead, she counted the bludgers hit, each circuit of the pitch, every goal. The numbers circled in her head. She could focus on the numbers. Focus on the grip of her broom. The feeling of it underneath her.

An hour and a half into game, Gryffindor was still flying well. The score was 50:30 and the three goals they had forfeited were well earned. _50:30. 50:30. 75 bludgers. 108 circuits. 50:30. 75. 108._ Lexa felt her right hand tremble and needles shoot through her fingers as she released her death grip on the bat. She switched hands and kept flying. Drowning everything else out. _50:30. 75. 108. Fuck._

Her head snapped up as the crowd roared. The wrong crowd. The sea of blue and bronze students rippled as people stood and shouted, pointing toward the sky. Lexa’s gaze snapped to the cerulean streak that was Raven Reyes in pursuit of the snitch… with no tail. Where the fuck was Octavia?

The young Blake was thirty feet up, her eyes caught on something beyond the stands, completely oblivious to the game.

“Octavia!” Lexa roared at her Seeker and felt righteous at the small amount of guilt that shone in the girl’s eyes before she darted off after the Ravenclaw. What the fuck had she been doing?

Lexa’s brows furrowed in frustration as she rose higher and for the first time in the game, consciously let her eyes wander. A feeling, foreign and heavy, settled in her stomach. And for a brief moment, she almost convinced herself to turn her attention back to the game. Almost. But instead she counted again as her eyes searched. _50:30. 76—_

There. Down there. Beyond the bleachers. Two figures. One blonde. One with brown hair that faded lighter. Lexa knew that hair. It was Anya’s. Was that Clarke with her? The wheat blonde was the right color. What were they doing? What the fuck were they doing?

Dull throbbing heat filled Lexa’s stomach as she watched Anya toss her head, hair sweeping to one side. A familiar gesture. The Slytherin only ever did that when she was trying to be flirty. When she wanted to convince Lexa to do something that the Gryffindor didn’t like. Why would she… Lexa didn’t want to look anymore, the heat in her stomach turning into a hollow emptiness. But she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away. The roar of the crowd and the woosh of players just a faded echo behind her.

 _Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?_ That was what Octavia had sneered earlier. Lexa shook her head, disbelieving. But as she watched Anya put a hand on Clarke’s shoulder only to have the other girl shrug it off, Lexa knew. She knew it in the defensive stance with which Clarke faced Anya. She knew it in the way her own stomach twisted into knots. She knew it in all the memories of Anya pulling away. Her interrupted confession the other day. _I have to tell you something, but I don’t know how. It’s about me and…_ Clarke. Anya and Clarke. Godric, why had Lexa interrupted her? Why hadn’t she let the stupid Slytherin finish her fucking sentence before she bared her soul. Before she said ‘I love you.’

The pain was dull, slow, but the rage was swift and deep and it consumed Lexa in one breath. She gasped out, trying to regain control. Everything would be fine if she was in control. If she didn’t let the rage, the darkness take her. _50:30. 75. No, 76. Or was it 75? No. 76—_

“LEXA!” The bellow from across the field cracked against her ears. Her heart stopped. Then started. Then stopped. She saw the field for one brief flash before all the air was knocked out of her lungs and pain exploded across her stomach, her diaphragm, her ribs. The pain was the last thing her mind registered before it shut down. The pain and the rushing of wind. She was falling.

Bellamy watched the last few seconds stretch out like taffy, slow and elastic. And as strongly as he willed it, he could not force his body to function at the same speed as his brain. Almost everyone, even those in uniform, watched with bated breath, gazing up at the two Seekers who made ribbons of red and blue in their pursuit of the Snitch. But not Bellamy. His eyes were leveled on the field, apathetic. Which was how he saw the bludger hurtling toward his best friend.

In the first second, he assured himself she would see it. Lexa had a sixth sense about these things. In the following second, he realized her back was turned. How could she see it? In the third second, he shouted her name, his deep voice cracked and desperate. In the fourth second, his best friend turned and her green eyes found him. Not the bludger. And in the fifth second, everything shattered into motion.

The bludger hit Lexa in the middle of her stomach, dragging the Gryffindor Captain off her broom with its sheer force. The crowd gasped, attention pulled, and jumped to their feet even as Bellamy leaned forward in a last ditch effort to reach Lexa. As if he wasn’t across the field. As if she wasn’t already falling from fifty feet in the air. But he wasn’t the only one diving towards the streak of red leather and honey brown curls.

Bellamy’s eyes were blown so wide that he caught the flash of gold that flew maybe three feet above Lexa’s head mere moments after her fall. If he had blinked, Bellamy might have missed the split second when there were two players pursuing the Golden Snitch and then when there was only one. He was still only a quarter of the way across the field when Octavia peeled off and dove after the tumbling figure of their Captain. And as Bellamy watched the two people he cared about most plummet towards the earth, he wasn’t sure whether he was breathing or if the air was simply being forced down his lungs with how fast he flew. He knew he would never reach Lexa before she smashed into the ground, but Octavia just might.

His fingers dug splinters from his broom handle as he leaned forward. He was still thirty feet away. Octavia was maybe five. Her hand reached out, fingers spread wide. A lump formed in his throat as he realized she wasn’t going to make it. They were both going to break against the ground. He wasn’t fast enough. Never fast enough. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. _Not again._

Octavia’s outstretched fingers grasped Lexa’s shirt. Then her arm wrapped around Lexa’s waist. And then the two were spinning as the Seeker used her broom to slow their momentum. But there wasn’t enough space and Bellamy bit down on his cheek as the two hit the ground with a loud thud and rolled a few feet before coming to stop in a heap of limbs and sticks and grass.

Bellamy touched down seconds later and forced his feet to function though they threatened to buckle as he ran towards the pair. The tightness in his chest eased fractionally as he saw Octavia push herself up, but it pinched twice as hard when she bent over Lexa, shaking the older girl’s shoulders.

“Lexa? Hey! Lexa!” his sister murmured harshly, her voice breathless from the fall. Bellamy dropped to his knees beside the pair and called his best friend’s name, his voice hoarse and no less frantic.

A moan of pain escaped the Gryffindor Captain before her eyes cracked open, glossy. Both Blakes let out sighs of relief and shared a brief look.

“What… you doing? Did we… win?” The words slipped out of Lexa’s mouth, slightly garbled. Obviously disoriented. Did she remember falling? They’d have to check her head.

The stadium roared and Bellamy saw Octavia’s face stiffen as she realized what it meant. Raven had caught the snitch. The match was over and Gryffindor had lost. Bellamy couldn’t give a fuck right now, but the two women next to him didn’t share his outlook. Lexa sighed heavily, whether from pain or disappointment Bellamy was unsure. Octavia, however, seemed certain. Her brows furrowed at Lexa’s noise of discontent and then her mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Fuck,” his sister slammed her fist in the ground, spraying dirt. He opened his mouth to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault. It didn’t matter. They were all okay. It would be okay. But he had only managed to utter her name when she pushed herself roughly from the ground. Octavia’s narrowed eyes and clenched jaw were the last he saw of her before she stalked off with a rigid set to her shoulders.

The field flooded with students and professors; Abigail Griffin lead the lot as she raced towards where Bellamy huddled over his best friend. He couldn’t help the resentment that boiled up as he watched half of the crowd rush by to wherever the Ravenclaw team had landed. But he felt equally frustrated by the mess of nosy first years that just wanted a peek at the mighty Trikru conquered by a fucking Bludger. He growled at them, but his defensive gesture was irrelevant as Professor Griffin ordered the students to stay back.

“Miss Trikru, can you hear me?”

Lexa nodded shallowly, her eyes having fallen closed again. The professor ran a wand over the supine Gryffindor Captain and a galaxy of shimmering, diagnostic spheres appeared above Lexa’s body. Bellamy felt his anxiety spike, but soft fingers found his against the grass as Lexa squeezed his hand. She was reassuring him. That was supposed to be his job. He choked softly, trying not to lose it on a field in front of the first years. Of course, she would find the strength to do that even after she fell fifty feet to the ground. Fucking Lexa.

“I think it’s best we move you magically to the Hospital Wing, Miss Trikru. Please don’t try to move yourself. You have a few cracked ribs and bruising on some internal organs. Nothing a few potions can’t fix, but it’s best you remain perfectly still.” Professor Griffin’s voice was calm, soothing, even as she nodded pointedly, “Mr. Blake, I’m assuming you will be coming with us?”

Bellamy jerked his head in a clipped nod; he didn’t think his voice would work right now. He felt utterly helpless as he watched the professor materialize a stretcher and levitate his best friend off the field.

Thirty feet away, Raven let out a triumphant laugh as the crowd hoisted her off of the field. Her fist punched the clear sky, Snitch clutched tightly between her long fingers. Her view unobstructed for the first time since she landed, Raven’s eyes caught on a group of people moving swiftly away. Someone was being carried off the field. Were they injured? When had that happened? Her focus on the snitch had been singular. Now her forehead wrinkled in confusion. But before she could give the situation too much thought, her whole body jolted forward as the crowd began to carry her towards the locker room. She let out another loud laugh at the strange sensation of many hands on her body. A rather bold third year boy found a purchase he particularly liked, but before he could get too handsy with her ass, she reached down and poked his face roughly, chuckling at his disgruntled expression.

The crowd righted her beside the locker room and she hissed as her weight settled onto her feet again. Her left knee was less than happy with the rough landing she had made. Raven performed a clumsy bow towards the hoards who had carried her before limping into the slightly less crowded interior. Her grin was wide despite the shooting pain up her leg, her success dulling the complaint of her body. Still, Raven let out a sigh of relief when she settled onto a bench and stretched the leg out before her.  

“Good catch, Reyes. Seriously awesome!” Her Captain clapped her on the shoulder as he strode into the room. “I know you would have caught it either way. Don’t let those whiny Gryffindors tell you any differently.”

“Tha— What?” Raven looked up from rolling her pants higher, gritting her teeth at the added pressure on her knee.

“Because of Trikru and Blake— You know? Because Blake pulled out of the chase.”

“What?”

“Trikru fell. Blake dove after her. Didn’t you see?”

“I was a little busy, Reggie.”

“Right. Well, good job anyways.”

“Thanks,” Raven muttered, her success tasting sour now. She glared after her Captain. He was such a prick. He would probably forget his meager praise by their next practice and make the whole team read more Quidditch theory as if they hadn’t won this match.

The rest of her teammates shuffled in, happy but irritated. No Ravenclaw liked winning on a technicality. They each gave her a rough clap on the back and said pretty much the same thing. Wasn’t her fault. Gryffindor was just sloppy. Figures.

By the time the Ravenclaw team had cleared out, most of her triumph had been sucked away by their discussion of the game. Her knee was definitely busted and the pain only seemed to be getting worse. She’d tried to stand once, but the sharp heat had sent her quickly back onto the bench. She didn’t want to add yet another thing to the list of what went wrong with the match so Raven waited until everyone left before trying to stand again. She had barely raised her butt an inch off the bench when Monty, Harper, and Jasper burst through the door in a flurry. She sat back down with a grimace and tried to recreate her earlier wide grin while she listened to their enthusiastic praise.

“Awesome!”

“So cool!”

“How did you land so smoothly? I would have crashed into the ground catching it that close!”

“I basically crashed,” Raven tried to interject, but was quickly quieted.

“No, no, you practically walked off your broom _into_ the Snitch. It was epic.”

“Sure…”

“I’m serious!”

“Monty’s right!”

“Totally epic!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m awesome,” Raven drawled trying to bring an end to their barrage of enthusiasm.

“Then why aren’t you happy about it?” Harper demanded, looking peeved.

“I’d rather win outright then on the technicality of being the _only_ one chasing the Snitch.”

Jasper and Monty made noises of affirmation, but Harper simply rolled her eyes at the three, hands bracing against her hips. “Whatever. You still caught the snitch, which is hard. Won the game, also pretty _hard_. So, all in all, I’m only hearing reasons to celebrate.”

“Hooch?” Monty looked at Jasper conspiratorially.

“Hooch,” the lanky boy affirmed.

This started up a chant of ‘hooch’ from the three in front of her like a rallying cry. Raven couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, alright,” she shook her head at them. “I’ll meet you guys in the common room. I just have to... clean up a bit first.”

“Okay!”

Raven gave her knee a gentle rub as the three musketeers headed out, waiting till she heard the slam of the wooden door for confirmation before she tried to stand for the third time.

“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck,” she hissed, gritting her teeth against the hot pain as she pulled herself up using the side of Reggie’s locker. It was the closest afterall. She cursed again as she knocked out his expensive blue glass potion bottle which probably contained something pretentious like hair smoothing oil. She watched it roll to a stop a few feet away and for a second considered leaving it on the floor, but her conscience got the better of her. With one deep breath to brace herself, Raven began to lean over, putting most of her weight on her good leg. The pain was still excruciating.

“Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Mother—”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Raven whirled around and cried out, falling on her ass with a loud smack and a grunt.

“Watch yourself, Reyes.” Jasper gave her a patronizing look before returning Reggie’s potion to his locker.

Raven glared up at him from the floor, her eyes as sharp as daggers.

“Jasper.”

“You’re probably wondering why I stayed behind.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re probably feeling grateful I did. Now that it is obvious you can’t walk.”

“Nope.”

“Well, no matter. I could tell you were lying,” Jasper grinned down at her, offering her a hand. “Seriously, Reyes. You gotta work on that.”

Raven swatted his hand away and reached back to use the bench to pull herself up again. His hands gripped her under the armpits, adding leverage, but she batted them away again.

“I don’t need your help!”

“Raven.”

“Jaaaasper,” she repeated, elongating the word and mocking the serious tone he had taken.

“Fine.”

She grunted and pulled herself closer to the bench. She stared back at it, but the only way she could figure out how to pull herself up was if she turned over onto her knees, which was certain to be even more painful than this awkward position. _Fuck_.

“Fine,” she huffed out, repeating the word back to him.

“You’re going to let me help?”

“Reluctantly.”

She looked up in time to catch Jasper rolling his eyes to which she stuck out her tongue. With their combined effort it didn’t take long to right herself, but it was still just as painful to put weight on her left leg.

“You’regonnahavetocarryme,” she ground out, eyes straight ahead.

“What was that?” Jasper prompted even though Raven was ninety-five percent sure that he had heard her.

“You’re going to have to carry me.”

“I could just levitate you.”

“Don’t you dare,” she pulled away from him slightly. “I know exactly how many inkpots you’ve broken, Jasper Jordan, and I don’t intend to have a fractured leg as well as a busted knee.”

“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands sheepishly. “Alright, so how do we do this?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one that’s supposed to be helping me.”

“No need to get so testy.”

“Ugh,” Raven pinched the bridge of her nose. When she looked back at Jasper he had his arms stretched wide, looking at her expectantly. “What do you want me to do? _Jump_ into them? If I could jump, you wouldn’t be carrying me.”

He gave her a withering look and after some awkward maneuvering, he had picked her up, one arm behind her back and the other cradling her knees as gently as possible. They made it through the door with some difficulty. Raven opened it with her closer hand and they squeezed through. She tried to protest as he began walking away, leaving the door completely ajar.

“Raven, I’ve only got so much strength. I’m beelining for the Hospital Wing. No stops.”

She snorted but fell silent. He was doing a much better job than she had expected with his scrawny arms. Still, she couldn’t help but poke fun. “Don’t drop me, Jordan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Reyes.”

“Seriously. I’ll kill you.”

He grinned down at her, “From the ground? I don’t think so.”

A shout rang out from behind them and Raven felt Jasper stiffen. The shout sounded again and this time it was clear that someone was calling her name. Jasper turned slowly, his grip shaking a bit, but he didn’t let go.

Roan jogged up to the pair, his shoulder-length hair a little crumpled and sweaty from the game. “Are you okay?” His eyes raked over her and she felt her cheeks flush slightly at the awkwardness of the situation.

“Um, yeah. Just busted my knee. Jasper’s helping me to the Hospital Wing.”

“I can take you,” Roan offered, his arms opening slightly.

“It’s fine. I’ve got her.” Jasper’s voice sounded quickly above her and Raven watched as Roan’s eyes finally turned on the boy whose arms she was in. His jaw clenched slightly and Raven remembered how he had thought Jasper was ‘into her.’ Like _interested_ in her.  

She snorted, “It’s fine, Roan. Really.” His blue gaze settled back on her, questioning. So she added, “I could use some food. Maybe you could grab me some?”

“Sure… I’ll just run to the kitchen and then meet you in the Hospital Wing. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

He gave them a curt nod before continuing his quick pace towards the castle. She felt Jasper’s breath brush against the top of her head as he let out a snort.

“Does he jog everywhere?”

“I don’t know,” Raven sighed. “Do you want me to call him back and ask?”

“No.”

The rest of the way to the Hospital Wing was silent. Raven tried to ignore the few tremors in Jasper’s arms at the obvious strain of carrying her. She wasn’t sure whether his silence was from focus or mood. Maybe both. But when he deposited her on a bed in the infirmary and immediately turned away, rubbing his sore arms, she was pretty sure it was the latter.

“Thanks, Jay,” Raven muttered to his back, but his response was cut off by the appearance of Professor Griffin. The older woman sighed, cast a few more diagnostic spells before leaving to find the proper potions for a torn muscle and busted kneecap. They were quiet for the few minutes it took the professor to return with an assortment of small tinctures. Once Raven had swallowed all four, she was ordered to stay in bed until the evening meal to let the medicine take effect.

“And you wonder why I don’t play Quidditch,” Jasper huffed when the professor had departed. “Deadly sport. You should have seen Lexa and Octavia hit the ground.”

Raven only nodded. She never expected him to understand why she played. He was cautious in a way she could never be.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she reminded him as he sat on the bed next to hers. He shrugged, resting his chin on his knuckles and watching her. He stared at her long enough that it became unnerving and Raven raised her eyebrows to break the tension.

He took the bait. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“About you and Roan?”

Raven groaned, “Jasper, not this again—”

“No, no judgment,” he raised his hands.

“Fine.”

“Okay. Okay.” He seemed to think for a moment, like he needed to find the right way to ask the question. Raven tried to keep the tension from her face when he finally spoke. “Are you two serious? I mean, do you like him?”

She wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting him to ask. Not that. Raven opened her mouth, but no words came out. She sighed, “I don’t know, Jasper. Serious? Not really. Do I like him? Maybe… But I... I honestly haven’t thought too much about it.”

Jasper nodded like he was digesting her words, weighing each one. Finally, he repeated back what he had heard, “So you’re not sure?”

“I guess,” Raven shrugged. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well,” he let out a loud sigh and ran a hand through his messy hair, making it stand up even more than it already did. Raven smiled at the gesture. His hands were large for how slim he was. She’d never noticed that before. “If you’re not sure about him… I mean, I guess I just want you to know that there are more options. You know? You have options.”

“Okay,” Raven said slowly. “I know you don’t like him—”

“No,” Jasper shook his head again. “No, Raven. It’s not about _him_.”

“Then what _is_ it about?’

Jasper stared at her, mouth opening and closing. He finally threw his hands between them. “It’s about you—”

“Me?”

“—and me.”

“What?” Raven was sure she hadn’t heard him right. It didn’t make sense.

He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing slightly. “Like I said, you have options.”

“Wait, what?”

“I like you, Raven!” The words burst from him like water through a dam, like he had been holding onto them for too long and didn’t quite know how to let go. He seemed to realize how loudly he’d shouted because his eyes pinched shut, and then he said again softly, “I like you.”

Raven stared at him, trying to make sense of all the words he was saying that just _didn’t make sense_. It was Jasper. _Jasper_. One of her best friends. Who she’d teased and prodded and made fun of as much as he’d done the same to her over the years. They made sex jokes and fart jokes and talked about the size of their shits sometimes. Her eyes felt like they were too big for her head, her brain buzzing. It must be a side effect of the potion. She was simply hallucinating. That was it. That made sense.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Raven laughed sharply and cleared her throat, waiting for a more logical response.

Jasper’s face shuttered off immediately at the sound of her laugh. “I’m not joking, Raven.”

“I—” Raven’s throat closed off as a lump rose. _Oh sweet Rowena._ He wasn’t joking. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t the potion. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Look, I know you’re probably shocked,” Jasper rushed forward, rambling in a way that he only did when he was nervous. “I was shocked when I realized. I mean we’ve known each other for years, but— but I like you, Raven. You were with Finn for so long that I guess I just wrote you off. Didn’t think about it. But then you guys broke up—”

“Jasper.”

“—and I guess I just started to realize how awesome you are. I mean, not that I didn’t already _know_ you were awesome,” he laughed. “Because obviously I did, but just like in a different way. You know? A different kind of awesome—”

“Jasper.”

“—and then I was pretty upset about Roan and I had a long think about that and realized I was jealous. Me! Jealous! Super weird. Totally didn’t know what that felt like… which is why it took me so long to figure it out - sorry about that by the way - anyways that’s when I realized that I like you. Like _like_ like you—”

“JASPER! DON’T!”

He inhaled sharply as his amber eyes finally found hers. “What?”

Raven worked her jaw trying to find the words, but she had none. She just knew that she needed him to stop. It was too much. She shook her head, “I can’t— I don’t. I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t,” Raven stared back at him and felt like she was going to throw up. “Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“Jasper—”

“No, it’s fine.” He stood, his eyes sliding from her even as he splayed his hands in surrender. “It’s fine. Really,” he repeated giving her a falsely cheery look. “I hope you feel better. I’ll see you—”

Raven tried not to. She really did. But her body wouldn’t listen and when Jasper reached over to pat her shoulder, she flinched. It was a small movement. Tiny. Infinitesimal. But he noticed and the breathless apology that followed his recoiled hand struck her in the gut.

The look he gave her broke Raven’s heart. Like he wished he could take back the last ten minutes and would cut off his arm to do it. And to be honest, she wanted that even more than he did. But all that regret couldn’t hide the hurt behind his eyes. She heard the barely intelligible ‘ _fuck,_ ’ that he whispered under his breath as he turned around and walked away from her. Raven stared at his retreating figure, trying to figure out something to say, something to fix this.

“Jasper, wait,” she called after him. But they both knew it was half-hearted. Spoken too quietly. Too late. So he didn’t turn back and she didn’t call him again. And Raven felt as if she had somehow lost something without ever really having it to begin with. She just hoped that there would be enough of their friendship to pick up the pieces. There had to be. There just had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys <3 
> 
> I know it has been forever since I updated this story and I am really sorry for that. I've lost a lot of my inspiration and have been hoping it will turn up again, but with some personal stuff going on in my life, writing has just not been a priority. 
> 
> I'm sad to say this, but I am going to have to put this story on an (official) hiatus for now. I'm not giving up. I'll eventually finish it, but the updates will be even more sporadic than they have been and I really don't want anyone holding their breath. Honestly, I will most likely be taking a break from writing fanfic in general; it has, at times, been so much fun and at others a huge source of anxiety. And I really don't need any more reasons to be anxious at the moment.
> 
> If you've enjoyed reading this or any of my other stories, please leave a little love in the comments. I know I could use it xx


End file.
